Water tumbles from the crevice in vast quantities, wearing away at the river bed, creeping its way slowly backwards towards the source. Waterfalls have a way of deceptively looking peaceful but get caught in the rapids and you’ll quickly be sucked under.
The air is hot, humid, and fantastic. It sticks to you like the cotton of your t-shirt to your skin but it’s comforting, like a warm embrace from a friend or a lover.
Freshly painted toes tenderly break the water’s surface, peeking into the lake, testing the temperature. The water is cool but refreshing so slowly but carefully the water takes her under, her calves, her hips and finally her shoulders. She breathes in.
The sound of the water cascading into the lake is almost deafening but it offers peace in white noise, all other sounds null and void while the waterfall is talking.
She holds her breath and ducks her head under the water. She can still hear the rush of the waterfall but it’s muted, distant, but she can only hold her breath for so long before she has to come up for air.
The loud rush surrounds her once more.
On an island paradise like this one, bliss can seem stressful if you overanalyse. Relax. Try to breathe. Waterfalls should just be waterfalls.