Abstract
I am sitting on a granite ledge beside a
pool on Lewis Creek, that tributary of
the Fresno River which parallels Highway
41 for several miles before that
highway approaches the south boundary
of Yosemite National Park . The
stream cascades in foaming white down
a granite trough and into the pool.
And now a water ouzel comes zipping
through the trough, skims the pool with
landing gear extended, and lands on the
rock not more than five feet from me.