Morison Creek runs just behind the thick band of Douglas Firs and Western Red Cedar behind my house, and it connects with the mighty Englishman River just a little east of that. Tucked into a shaded glade on this side of the confluence is a magical place that people in this area call Triple Falls. The water is jade green, turning to rust, and it falls cold and clear into a series of small pools cut into the sandstone by time. I sit here in the springtime when it's roaring, I soak here in the summer when it's sweltering, I marvel at the majesty of nature in the fall when the salmon are running, and I witness the white puffs of breath from visiting deer in the winter. It is a special place, but the most magical part about it is that I can never hear the water from my window in the daylight, in any season. But at nightfall, it's always there, like secret music to carry me away to sleep each night.