28. The Enchantment of Creeks (1)
Nearly everybody has a creek in his past, a confiding waterway that rose in the spring of youth.…….
My creek wound between Grandfather’s apricot orchard and a neighbor’s hillside pasture. It banks were shaded by cottonwoods and redwood trees and a thick tangle of blackberries and wild grapevines. On hot summer days the quiet water flowed clear and cold over gravel bars where I fished for trout.
Nothing historic ever happens in these recollected creeks. But their persistence in memory suggests that creeks are bigger than they seem, more a part of our hearts and minds than mighty rivers.
Creek time is measured in the lives of strange creatures, in sandflecked caddis worms under the rocks, sudden gossamer clouds of mayflies in the afternoon, or minnows of darting like silvers of inspiration into the dimness of creek fate. Mysteries float in creeks’ riffles, crawl over their pebbled bottoms and slink under the roots of trees.
While rivers are heavy with sophistication and sediment, creeks are clear, innocent, boisterous, full of dream and promise. A child can wade across them without a parent’s cautions. You can go it along, jig for crayfish, swing from ropes along the bank. Creeks belong to childhood, drawing you into the wider world, teaching you the curve of the earth.
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