Page 11 of Campfires & Canines
Eager to get outside, I yank on tennis shoes and pull my sweatshirt on. My newest book goes into my tote along with a water bottle. Grabbing my phone, I hesitate. It doesn’t get enough cellular service out here to fully work. But maybe I’ll get some good pictures, so I tuck it in too.
While the hammocks I noticed yesterday sound tempting, the idea of seeing the creek lures me northwest instead.
The crisp morning air makes me shiver. It’s probably a lovely temperature, but I’m not suited for a cold climate.
A squirrel races up a nearby tree, its claws scratching at the bark.
I take a deep breath. It’s going to be a good day.
My shoes crunch on pine needles. There's an obvious trail here. As I march along, the movement in my muscles feels invigorating and the bright scent of pine resin and wildflowers clears my head.
The trees sway overhead, dappling the sunlight. It's somehow energizing but also calming out here. I glance back; the cabin is still visible. A few more moments and it’s gone. But as long as I stick to this path, I shouldn’t get lost.
All sorts of little plants wave as I pass. Even with my jeans, I don't want to touch them and risk poison ivy. I have no idea what poison ivy even looks like.
The trail slopes downwards and transitions from level forest to rocky mountainside. It twists back and forth, getting harder to follow.
Hiking boots would have been a wise idea, but my trusty tennis shoes will do. A soft rushing sound emerges under the rustle and creaks of the trees around me. I grin smugly - I’m getting close.
As the creek comes into view, the hiking trail becomes exceedingly difficult. I have to clamber through the brush to go around a fallen tree wedged between boulders - too high to climb but too low to go under. Locking my jaw, I push onwards, and my perseverance is rewarded.
Scrambling down the rocky slope, I reach the creek. It's got to be thirty feet across, at least. It doesn't seem very deep at this point – maybe up to my waist. I don’t want to find out.
Tiny fish sparkle as they swim against the current. Rocks jut out of the water at regular intervals. Some of them are flat, a perfect perch for me.
Pink and purple penstemon flowers cover the shore in a blaze of color. Softer periwinkle forget-me-nots pop up throughout.
I slip off my shoes and socks and roll up my jeans so I can stick my toes in the water. Reaching out for balance, I carefully extend my barefoot until I reach the closest rock. With a gulp, I shift my weight from one foot to the other. I pick my way from rock to rock until I reach the biggest one. It's about ten feet from where I started, not quite in the center of the stream.
The sun is bright here, but the air is cooler. The water makes a delightful babbling sound splashing against the rocks.
Balancing carefully, I turn and lower myself to sit cross-legged. The stone is hot under my hands and warms my ass through my jeans. It feels divine. With a sigh, I savor the success - I made it!
Camera ready, I search for the best angle to capture the white foam curling through the crystal water as rocks disrupt the flow. Then I capture the treetops reaching towards the puffy clouds. I’dlove to photograph some animals, but all my little forest friends are hiding.
With a sigh, I trade in my phone for my book.
I skim the next chapter, but the soft splashes of the water are so soothing, I find myself closing my eyes and tipping my face toward the sun. With a shake of my head, I give up and tuck the book away.
Leaning on my elbows, I am drenched with sunlight and warmth. My soul soaks everything up, feeling fuller and lighter. This is exactly what I needed.
The musty smell of the water and plants pacifies my frayed nerves. Thousands of leaves rustling sound like the whisper of a wind chime against the rushing, crashing sounds of the water.
There will be times to make big life decisions later. Right now, in this beautiful place, I can be still. I’d bottle this feeling up and drink it every day if I could.
When I start to worry about the sun burning my eyelids, I sit up straight again. Blinking, the stream comes into focus.
Standing down the creek is Slate. He looks as surprised as I am. His green eyes are bright, almost glowing. He looks like some sort of dryad like he materialized from the forest.
Shock lances through me.
I spring to my feet without thinking, trying to balance and utterly failing. The rock is slick. With a screeched "Motherfucker!" I slip off my rock and crash into the flowing water.
My legs and hips hit first and the cold water hitting my waist makes me suck in a breath, right before my chest and head go under.
The water's current is gentle down here. I float along for a second before survival instinct kicks in and I start thrashing. If I can get my feet under me, I can easily stand up.
I know I’m not in danger unless I crack my head on a rock, but it doesn’t change the overwhelming sensation of needles over my entire body or the ridiculous screaming in my head.
