Creek Coward

Went to Stone Barns—a nearby organic farm, open to the public.

Near the path, there runs a creek. Slow, green, deep. A little rush of water dashes into an underground pipe that carries it away, to the pasture.

I stood there a long time, eyes closed, open. I remembered our creek. The one that carried me away from trouble and towards adventure. I remembered how I had to slide down a minor cliff to get there. Or tumble past a forest gulley, on the other side. (Of course, a creek has more than one entrance.)

How did I grow to be a creek coward? Near the path there runs a creek. Slow, green, deep. And all I can think of is mosquitoes and West Nile, mud and leeches, slippery rocks. And, I am content to watch it dash away into the pasture... just a bystander to its meanderings.