Only a few days ago, you could barely call this water a river. It was more like a little beck, staying calmly in its bed, flowing along in the laziness of summer.
Then, it rained, and rained again, and suddenly, little beck turned into torrent, twisting and wrangling with the rocks, growing out of its boundaries, more and more excited at the thought of diving soon into the lake.
The moss was invigorated, turning light green again where it had started to get sunburnt. Fir trees exhaled a sweet scent of berries and dry wood.
The mountain scenery was gradually filled up with the sound of water rushing downstream.