The world becomes filled with sound of rushing water. Little gulches, dry, frozen, silent, during other times of the year become talkative streams. Hot weather has not truly come yet. Once that arrives, in the afternoons and evenings, the river will not only sing, it will roar.
We saw river rafters the other day. Miguel Loco's down the Grand Canyon, vacation before summer season gets underway and catharsis from a divorce. On walkabout, I think of three trails I want to do directly, all of which have Gulch in their names. The siren's song of running water fills my ears.