Rising rays pierce fir and cedar shadows,illuminating diamond-dewed websstrung like laundry from fragile twig to twig.…Rivulets of yellow rippling downthe ever-greenèd slopes,and round each outcrop,burning bushes signalwe’re on holy ground.Molten glass reflecting rock and slopes of autumn glory,silent, still, ‘til broken by a dipping paddle stroke.And we, gliding through reflected glory,learn that heaven ...