Flowing Water


We were always in the woods.
This was how we found the rock wall.
It wasn't made of rocks,
but fallen trees staked upon each other.
They laid above an old and flowing creek.
We climbed the giant ladder
every chance we got.
We coped with the snow and ice
by using bungie cords to hook
our pant loops.
We were always amazed by the size
of the mushrooms found on
the slowly decaying logs.
We are all older now.
The rock wall has fallen,
But the name has changed.
It is now the bridge a crossed
the old and flowing creek.
I crossed it today, alone.
The others are still too afraid,
for the logs have long since
been rotten and mere shells.
But on the other side,
I found the river.
I still can't believe
the difference between
the old and flowing creek
and the even older river.
I find myself apprehensive
over the age of the ocean.

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