When I look at this snap of Tangerine Falls bleached white in the dry sunshine a month ago, I sometimes glimpse ghost water.
0995 Ghost Parapet
I can see it gushing out from the trees, leaping cold and refreshing in a plume of mist from the stone parapet, and twirling in a roaring ribbon down the cliff face to explode into a blast fanning out from the rocks below.
0995 White Tangerine
Mid-70s days in January are nice, but my soul still yearns for some solid night and morning moisture. My inner wildflowers are waiting to bloom. Next time we fly there, I’d love to see at least some dampness beginning to bring back the falls’ signature orange color. But probably not yet, with so little rain.
John & Anne Wiley 
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