The Enchantment of Creeks
佚名 / Anonymous
Nearly everybody has a creek in his past， a conf？iding waterway that rose in the spring of youth. A park ranger’s voice softens as he talks of a boyhood creek in Louisiana where he swam and f？ished. A conservationist’s eyes sparkle as he recalls building dams on Strawberry Creek in California of his youth. An Ohio woman feels suddenly at home again as she remembers catching crayf？ish in the creek behind her parents’ house.
My creek would between Grandfather’s apricot orchard and a neighbor’s hillside pasture. Its banks were shaded by cottonwoods and redwood trees and a thick tangle of blackberries and wild grapevines. On hot summer days the quiet water f？lowed clear and cold over gravel bars where I f？ished 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 sand-f？lecked caddis worms under the rocks， sudden gossamer clouds of mayf？lies in the afternoon， or minnows darting like slivers of inspiration into the dimness of creek fate. Mysteries f？loat in creeks 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 alone， jig for crayf？ish， swing from ropes along the bank. Creeks belong to childhood， drawing you into the wider world， teaching you the curve of the earth.
Above all， a creek offers the mind a chance to penetrate the alien universe of water， of tadpoles and trout. What drifts in creek water is the possibility of other worlds inside and above our own. Poet Robert Frost wrote： “It f？lows between us， over us， and with us. And it is time， strength， tone， light， life， and love.”