Stained Glass Ripples

The mist hangs there 
a cloud pressed to glass 
by early afternoon, 
the water flowing into 
churn and froth, 
the river stones 
chirping against each other 
as they toss under the force of the waterfall, 
and on the shore 
the blackened trunks 
of old firs 
catch sun through cloud light 
still healing 
from wildfire scars 
all the many fallen trees 
gathered in one pile 
at the base of the falls, 
braided and broken, 
the water spreading outward 
in stained glass ripples.