The waterfall on South Mountain hits the rocks,
tosses back its foam with terrifying thunder,
blotting out even face-to-face talk.
Collapsing water and bouncing foam soak blue moss,
old moss so thick
it drowns the spring grass.
Animals are hushed.
Birds fly but don’t sing
yet a white turtle plays on the pool’s sand floor
        under riotous spray,
sliding about with torrents.
The people of the land are benevolent.
No angling or net fishing.
The white turtle lives out its life, naturally