I slip on my boots
and slather on bug repellent.

With every step I take
I hear a subtle “crunch”
of the fallen leaves and twigs.

In the distance, I hear
the dog’s barking
and the far-off whistle
of a train.

I continue to pave a path over
fallen logs and knee-high grass
until I stumble
onto the loose rocks
of the creek,
dry now,
and missing its gurgling waterfall,
that dropped
into a whimsical little pond.

Faint memories,
of hauling large rocks
and tossing small pebbles
into the innocent pond,
as if it were a wishing well,
flood me.

Until I am brought back
to reality
with the "splish" of a frog
and the flash of red
from an outgoing cardinal’s wing.

I miss the simple summer days
when I would wander and lie
on the smooth rocks
of the creek bed
and pretend to float with the clouds.

These days, I drown
in homework, sports,
and chores,
imprisoned
in my own home.

And dreaming of the creek
and plunging deep into my thoughts.