Water Meets Stone
The waters of Running Eagle Falls have always known their course—steadfast and unyielding, no need to declare their power. I stand before it, feeling the mist kiss my face as I gently slip into darkness. I wonder: How much of me belongs to the rhythm of this place? How much of me is still caught in the endless hum of modern life? Here, the world narrows to the gentle roar of the cascade, the echo of Brown Weasel Woman’s footsteps on the earth, and the hollow spaces carved by time.
The falls roar an unspoken strength, the unshakable resolve to endure and preserve. Running Eagle stood here once, her presence woven into this land, her story rising like the mist from the falls. She is here now, not as a figure of history, but as a woman, shoulders braced against the same burdens I know and carry. The weight of expectation, the ache of responsibility, the quiet rebellion of choosing a path that defies the world’s measure of worth.
The water splits, one stream tumbling boldly over the edge, the other flowing unseen through rock, emerging gentle and resolved. Strength doesn’t always announce itself. Often, it is the quiet persistence of carrying on, the stillness beneath the surface, the flow that continues even when no one is watching.
The absence of distraction has a mighty presence. The world of incessant notifications, the suffocating need to be seen and validated is distant. Its echo disintegrates before reaching this sanctuary. Absence is not emptiness but fullness. Here, nature breathes, I breathe, the memory of Running Eagle lives.
Her spirit lingers in the steady rhythm of the falls, a reminder that perseverance is not the loud battle cry of conquest, but the quiet pulse of resilience. Brown Weasel Woman did not let her world dictate her boundaries. Her strength was her defiance, not through chaos but through stillness—through her rootedness in something larger than herself.
I become one with the firm rock beneath me as it breathes through the rumble. The falls mirror our stories. In their unhurried motion, I understand the path I long to take, a life that values presence over progress, depth over display. How much of me has been shaped by waters like these, and how much have I let slip away in the rush of modernity?
As I return to the light, the falls are unchanged, yet something in me feels quieter, more precise. The strength of Running Eagle flows here, in the persistence of water meeting stone, and I too feel it coursing through me. Perhaps the lesson is not to fight the current, but to find myself within it, to let it shape me—not into what the world demands, but into what I’ve always been.
“Running Eagle Falls” is available for purchase.
