That’s not snow in the photo. That’s the Rogue River as it races its way through lava tubes into the gorge. The foam so thick, it looks like cream. I had an impulse to dip my hand in and scoop it up. I was warned to stay away from the edge. The rushing waters don’t stop.
Gary and I stood on the rocks mesmerized by the river cascading past us. We weaved in and out amongst the evergreens hugging the edge of the gorge. Some trees stand erect and others lean in to gaze at the river below. I couldn’t help but wonder how they took root and stayed planted in so little soil.
There are dozens of waterfalls in Southern Oregon, and we saw only one. Another reason to go back to Ashland.
When we returned home, I reserved our rooms for next year’s Oregon Shakespeare Festival.
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