Sapadere Canyon
The water is loud and angry, streaming down rocks, spluttering at nooks, gushing down the canyon. The cicadas are just as furious, chirping, screaming. Is it the heat that set their tempers aflame? Or the sheer impossibility of the rock faces on either side of the gorge?
If I lived here, would I too, lose the ability to feel joy at the fresh beauty of this place and instead focus on the desolate nature of the cliff faces, the height of the Taurus mountains, and the frigid temperature of the stream? Would the thunder of the waterfall strike fear in my heart so that I would shudder and collapse into myself?
Is beauty two-faced, aspiring joy one day and desperation the next?
If I lived here, would I too, lose the ability to feel joy at the fresh beauty of this place and instead focus on the desolate nature of the cliff faces, the height of the Taurus mountains, and the frigid temperature of the stream? Would the thunder of the waterfall strike fear in my heart so that I would shudder and collapse into myself?
Is beauty two-faced, aspiring joy one day and desperation the next?