A creek at the end of summer

This is the time of year when wading our creek is easy as it's lazy and slow moving. It has places where the silt is deep enough to make the wader wonder about a little quicksand (not really). Other places are rock shelves or gravel bars. It is mostly from ankle to thigh deep on me.

Tracks along the banks reveal the other creatures here before us. Crayfish scurry for cover as we wade past. Once we startle a pair of wood ducks who fly off in a huff. Sometimes there are fallen trees to get over or under. This creek, as probably all creeks, is a living treasure for those are fortunate enough to live along its banks.

We waded it last week-end with our son, daughter-in-law, and two grandsons. Sharing it added tremendously to the joy it always yields.

This is kind of an odd entry into fall for me as it seems a lot is going on but the days are slowed into a rhythm of preparing, waiting, waiting for fall, for the leaves to turn and drop, for something new to come.

I look at a clock and see only moments have gone by when it seems hours should have or it's the reverse. What's that all about!