High up in the canyon a golden hawk slowly circles, grey feathered wings spread wide, passing into the glare of the sun. Bathing in the sun's warmth a lizard bobs up and down upon a flat boulder then darts, pauses, darts, and vanishes. The warm wind rubs its back against a curving corner of the canyon walls, and suddenly small bits of leaves rise up and begin to give chase to each other. The swarm of dried leaflets swirl and crackle about, weaving and dodging like cover for wild fairies at play. Carried by a sudden gust, they fly up and dive past a muddy embankment to land and rest and float away upon the eddies and currents of a cool shallow stream. Past forests of ferms and miniature islands of stone light sparkling on the thin glassy surface and dancing in weaving patterns upon the golden sunlit silt beneath as the water softly ripples and splashes and flows along. The departing bits of leaf bounce upon small rapids, rush down between a series of pouring falls then disappear into the fluttering shadows beneath great spreading trees that rise from damp dark tangled roots, anchoring the embracing shores.