Edeline D’Souza, 12 October 2011
The gushing deluge that is the Niagara Falls, located in the south or south-eastern part of Ontario, Canada, is a breath-taking exemplar of Mother Nature’s artistic flair.
The unmistakable, thunderous roar of the seemingly impenetrable, solid wall of water rushing off the well-worn craggy precipice, crashing with uninhibited abandon into the clear azure depths below, can audibly be heard from the parking lot outside, and upon entering, with every step forward the decibel level, which is directly proportionate to your anticipation, continues to escalate. The overwhelming enthusiasm and eagerness of the tourists and locals alike barely conveys the magnitude of the spectacle that awaits us.
Drawing up to the guardrail, a gasp will escape you. The powerful surge of the white-tipped turquoise torrents cascade with a majestic ease, the unending flood of waters that will have passed thousands of insurmountable obstacles, finally free, to flow with unleashed liberty.
Overlooking the Falls for the first time is a moment that should never be forgotten, but not only that, it is a moment that should be experienced in awestruck silence, as you struggle to absorb it’s glorious watery beauty. You need not be obliged to leave your reverie or interrupted from bathing in the reverence the view demands. For this reason, make sure your viewing company are like-minded in their respect for beauty, or you will be forced to to stand in complete solitude in order to allow the display to envelop you in the utmost entirety.
To see this aqua exhibition twice would be considered fortunate, but to me , the third time was indescribably magical.
During the winter, the Niagara Falls is transformed into an enchanting winter wonderland. The stony grey water, could be called flat and uninteresting, but the mysteriousness of the waters and the unanswerable questions of where the waters are going and where they’ve come from
hide in the swirling, foamy lagoon, unbeknownst to us.
From the impact zone cold, stinging, but nonetheless, refreshing spray blossoms towards your face with an icy reality, making you feel the moment. The snow frosted lamp posts, like something out of Narnia, every few feet, glowing with the warmth of a pixie-lit flame.
Taking the ‘Maid of the the Mist’, the tour boat that takes you right out to the base of the waterfall, in this blurred rush to get there you slap on a thin blue plastic poncho over your clothes and assemble at the end of the line, impatiently waiting to get on.
Looming in front of you, towering like a pillar of judgement, you realise your utter insignificance, the world all around you has never instilled such an phenomenal sense of humility as much as this single entity of water. The spray fills the air like fairy dust, glistening in the late afternoon sun, falling with an oddly vigorous gentleness, upon your face like an early morning dew.
As evening blankets the scene in its dark shroud, lights flicker on illuminating the distance and near with spots of colour and light that break through the ebony tint, and a slow, steady trickle of people leave through the gates with a happy, memorable day behind them.