Young Girl's Retreat

It's 22 degrees here today and everything is covered with snow, so I thought I'd post something to get my mind (and yours) off the cold. I wrote this quite a while ago. It is based on summertime memories I have of playing near a creek when I was a child.


Young Girl's Retreat

Driving by, you would have missed it.
It was a small creek, not much to see,
but from the seat of my bike, it was an oasis.
It sauntered through a corn field,
bubbled over rocks, gurgled peacefully.

I leaned my bike against the guard rail
and scrambled down the bank.
I stirred up dragonflies from the weeds 
and took a seat at water's edge
on an old wooden plank.

Turtles sunning themselves on a log
were startled by my noise
and slipped into the murky green.
Minnows in the water 
darted into the shadows
hoping they hadn't been seen.

Dirt filtered down from the road above
when cars rumbled by.
I'd swing my hand through the air
at the nearby buzz of a pesky horse fly.

I'd float little boats down the stream
made of Queen Anne's Lace.
They'd swirl and dip and careen
in a wet, frilly flower race.

I'd toss stones into the water
just to hear them splash.
Flip crawdads over with a stick.
They'd flip back in a flash.

I left my troubles there
on the banks of that stream.
Midst the cattails 
where the red-winged blackbirds flew.

I'd return home with not a care in the world, 
except for maybe, too much sun 
on my cheeks and nose
and a bit of creek mud stuck 
to the bottom of my shoe.

---from Musings 2013, copyright © 2013 Williams County Writers Group