May 23, 2011
The canyon was peaceful. The only sound available was the echo of rippling water--a softer, almost hypnotic likening to penny fountains in the mall. Granted the mall was devoid of customers so that the only movement would be the changing sunlight dropping at seemingly perfect 45 degree angles into the establishment at high noon--approaching a more perpendicular display at dusk. Unlike the mall, the canyon knows no precise measurements. Only the gentle passage of time, indifferent to mortality. Wendy picked up a handful of sand at the bottom of the lake and drizzled it into George's waiting hand.