May I go to the creek as a child again? I’ll put my shoes and socks on this rock.
I hope I can.
But where to put these worries and fears? Will the gurgling creek waters carry away the troubles?
And the tears?
Perhaps so, with help from the frogs and my memories. Of carefree evenings by the water.
Buds on the trees.
Of following a creek that only flowed in the spring. Cool water on my toes, frog eggs in a jar.
Birds with red wings.
A killdeer ran scolding through the pasture. A tractor groaned through its plowing chore in the field.
Was I ever happier?
I’d jump to the large flat rock in the small pond. Frogs leaped for cover. I stared at water spiders.
I’d stay too long.
Mom shouted for supper. I’d catch one more frog. Let it go and know I’d hear it in the night.
Through the fog.
May I go to the creek as a child again? I’ll put my worries and fears on this rock. Then I’ll close my eyes and listen.
I think I can.