The Little Legs of the Creek

I miss the creek by my house. I don't miss the time or all the people I was with, but I miss that creek.

There was a shock I'd get from the piercing temperature on my now unrooted soles,

forcing me to relay on my callused toes.

Always walking on my tip toes as that young girl.

All the while, I knew it would be shivering.

I even knew just how cold.

Yet, it could still shock me.

Even with the anticipation, I still sought to see it through.

I knew the oneness that was felt once settled into the cool.

So, how could the first plunge,

every new day still be so unknowing- with all I already knew?

Maybe, knowing it all doesn't answer anything.

Do more questions bring me closer to the truth of it all?

That doubt may be the everlasting sound of water hitting water.

Trickle and clash.

For each new day,

for each new plunge,

I would be new.

I was not and have not been the same person for more than that one day.

So, the oneness.

The oneness of me and that creek, the walks in and through.

That would be what made me,

me.

So, I miss parts of then but I do not miss it all.

I don't miss the shock,

I just miss the walk.