My feet are cold
As I sit by the creek
And stare at my reflection
While the wind makes ripples in the water.
Distorting my face not enough to make me unrecognizable,
But enough to make me question if it's me.
I have been away from here for a while.
Sometimes you get busy
And as I sit back and look around the clearing
memories and images flood my mind
Of a little girl running across the creek with her older sister
Chasing a bunny she had seen
Picking berries with her friends
Jumping from stone to stone across the creek
And then falling in
The creek only about two feet deep was fine for the little girl
But was complained about by her friends
"The water was too cold or it was too muddy or too slippery"
But the little girl never minded the temperature
Or the dirt or anything
She grew up in this place
This simple clearing of trees
So natural but what seemed like magic to a five year old.
But sometimes you grow up and forget magic.
Sometimes you don't remember till you go back.
And as I sit and watch myself in the creek I grew up next to.
I stand and walk home.
Leaving for now.
