The first thing I notice is the way the mist catches the light, turning the air into a soft, shimmering veil—almost like a curtain of tiny silver pearls. I can almost taste the mineral tang of the water, the faint scent of wet stone and pine. It’s all a little more than just a roar; it’s a living pulse. I’ll try to keep up, but I might pause to soak in a detail or two—just to make sure I’m not missing a single fragment of that moment. If I slip a beat, I’ll catch myself on the next spray and keep moving.