I have always been more curious and brave than fearful but that day on the mountain top rocked me hard. I regretted not staying and searching for my family among the chaos of fear and confusion of the crowd, a ghost that may forever haunt me. I searched for a remnant of the Falls I had spent my entire life living so close to, but the mist was impenetrable. So thick, you could not see, hear or smell. Over time it receded a little but I was left at it's mercy, forced to have patience to see what it would reveal, when it so inclined. I longed for the security of home, for friends and family, for familiarity, but it was gone. With every inch I scoured, without so much as a scent of my mother or father, left me hollow with loneliness. I can't tell how much time has passed, or if time is even the same in this new world.
This is the closest place I've found to home. The cascade of water is weak compared to the roar of what I remember. It doesn't produce much of a mist either but it is all I have. Combined with the open field it's as close as it gets. I stand as near as possible, finding some hope and comfort in the sound. There's a crispness in the autumn air accentuated by the cool spray coming off the water and I can feel where my palomino winter coat hasn't begun to come in yet. I'm so lost. Not geographically, well maybe that way too, but lost as in I have nowhere to go, no purpose to serve. This age is hard enough, trying to figure out who I am, seek some independence, but this... this is hard.
It's alive with the beating of young hearts.