It's mid-November and today feels like September: the warm sun, still low on the horizon is sparkling off the water as it leaps off the dam. There's a breeze from the South which causes ripples to form perpendicular to the face of the dam. Like combed silk, or hair, the water glides over the curving lip in ribbons and advancing bands. I study the silvery folds and discover pieces of the sky and the forested horizon. And all the while, the crashing white-noise drone providing a sonic pillow for my undisciplined and unfinished thoughts. A deafening whisper.