The house where I stayed that summer had a peaceful patio behind it, which was enclosed by a tree-filled hillside and a fence separating the backyard from the public trailhead that entered the gorge. I sat outside in the afternoons reading alone, listening to the sounds of running water and hikers entering and leaving the park.

The town is known for these striking features of the landscape but I was warned that the water is dangerous in spite of its inviting appearance. People drown in the gorges every year, sucked into submerged caverns by powerful currents that trap them beneath the surface.

Everyone knows that the gorges are dangerous, yet they are still drawn to swim. I was not immune to their natural magnetism.

Every day I walked the trail, losing myself in the perpetual currents and the intricate details of the gorge walls, entranced by the way the wet surfaces behind the waterfalls glinted in the sun. Witnessing the progress of millipedes crawling across the precisely separated layers of ancient rock, I felt attuned to time on an enormous scale.

As I made my daily pilgrimage through the gorge, it was as though I could perceive another layer of reality shining through the superficial substance of things as they appeared to be. As if this furrow in the surface of the Earth was actually a crack in existence through which, from the right angles, I could see into an infinite abyss.

Nothing, which is everything.

One morning while drinking coffee and writing, I noticed something moving on the hillside across the patio. It was a young deer, snacking on foliage. I had to be near it. I left my journal on the counter, opened the door, and stepped outside. The paving stones were cool and smooth and I felt twigs and dried leaves sticking to the soles of my bare feet. As I approached the deer it stopped eating and looked at me warily.

“Don’t worry,” I spoke softly so it would understand my good intentions from the tone of my voice. “I love you.”

It resumed its meal. I moved closer as it bit off tender leaves and chewed. Another step. We made eye contact and I felt a soothing sensation wash over me, a feeling of safety such as I had never experienced before in my entire life. I took another step closer. There were only a few feet between us. Closer. I felt its warm breath. The deer turned and I followed it up the hill, through the trees, leaving the glass door hanging wide open behind me as we made our way toward the gorge. My toes gripped dirt and roots and rocks.

I knew that I would never be afraid again.