The banks bled; mineral springs dyed their gravel beds crimson. A sandy delta gaped from the left after a trackless bank of spent logs. Shrubs guarded the entrance to the sacred place and I had to climb like Zaccheus to witness the spectacle.
Deer had once tracked up this sandy slope, but what strange enchantments they found here I could not read. Not so nimble I lost my footing once or twice on the ordeal to the summit, which is not the summit but the edge of a wide sandy crater, but not a crater. For it was born not from some falling visitor from heaven but from the unholy depths of the earth where the unwanted critters make their homes.
Two pairs of springs burst forth (but more, for I abstract out the smaller minor things) to coalesce in two yawning Y's, themselves meeting in a pitchfork that just escapes the bank through a tiny brush-lined crevasse to the delta and river beyond. All elements mix in their colors but not their places, with yellow clothing sand, grey the dirt and the darkest black takes mud. Green weeds grow near red rocks to complete the inhuman rainbow below.
It is a conspicuous place meant not for habitation but for marvel. In awe I set camp outside its twisted gates. I would stay a while. Perhaps forever.
Day 81 ended: 49*38.726N, 099*18.364W