Tonight I found one of my old diary pages. The page reminded me of a massive cloth instrument made entirely out of clothes worn during childhood. This instrument: meant to be played. My memory of being taken to Hanging Lake as a child. Travertine promenades. It means a lot to me that Hanging Lake was thought to have been discovered by a person searching for gold in the mountains. The person in search came upon a dead horse and beyond the dead horse, curved equine ribs exposed, was the flamboyant pool and the double waterfall. 
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