The Meadow 89 them. All the time it took to create them, the immense energy. How far back they had gone. Billions of years, and yet they had only traveled a few hours. She turned to Bailey, who had her computer open and was recording notes. “Doctor...if the headwaters show us creation... where is Jacob going?” From where Amanda, Bailey, and Jacob had entered the river, it flowed for a while, uninteresting. As Jacob reported, it narrowed. Slowly. But faster as time went on. From fifty feet across to forty, to twenty, to five; it dwindled to a narrow stream, weak and dawdling as if from a drooling idiot’s mouth. It became a single drop, and it reached the edge of a cliff and hung in darkness until it fell and rippled in a black pond. The ripples washed back and forth before the pond returned to glass, reflecting tall, straight, dead-black trees and blood-red leaves going on forever. A slight, slim, glowing-white leaf drifted down from the dying river and landed in the glassy pond; it faded and then was gone.
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