The Creek


I live near a creek.

I have lived here all my life.

I have seen its many seasons of ups and downs.

I have seen the rain come, causing it to rise.

I have been with it through times of drought.

When no rain was to be seen and the water was depleting,

It still flowed- life sustaining.  It is always brown,

though it has its clearer days.

Days that seem tranquil, placid,

where the river seems to be at rest.

Those days I can sit idly by and watch it,

the clouds hovering over me;

the grass tantalizing my nose with its rich fragrances;

the faint aroma of wildflowers that create a perfume

nestled against the banks.  After a heavy rain

the banks can turn into a marsh like sponge, and I can feel

the ground molding to the forms of my feet.

I have also seen days where the river seems filled with rage;

when limbs and leaves are swept away-

down the heavy current.  The creek is no mighty river.

But, all great rivers have their sources;

I live near one of those sources.

I am privileged to be here.

There is relaxation on its banks, I know it.


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