"The wind was cold and immediate. It carried a fog that swirled hungrily over the jutting, man-made outcrop we stood on, turning the crowd into shifting shadows. Here, the voice of water was louder still, devouring the tourists’ gleeful laughter and the cries of the seabirds swooping overhead. Yet the Falls themselves were hidden behind the white-grey cloak, swallowed in a veil of their own creation. Water beaded on my face and hands, soaking my feet. I inhaled deeply, but here the air didn’t carry a scent, just a constant reminder of the cold in its icy touch."
An excerpt from 'The Voice of Niagara', a travel story from Niagara Falls
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