Waterfall

I sing a hymn of silent praise to the memory
of slipping off the path,
scooting over boulders like children,
hands and skin pleading with brain
to get closer to the surprise waterfall.
Frigid water in my shoes,
secret kiss of sun upon each shoulder,
the impossibly small tree frog.
I tucked this memory below my fourth right rib,
joined it to the scaffold of memories
that hold me upright;
a prayer of rumbling white noise,
a baptism for the bold.