Creekbeds Like My Childhood

When I was a kid, I hunted in the creek, drew together sticks and creek moss to make thick cradles to catch terror-stricken frogs in that would then slip between my fingers. Giggling and screaming in faux disgust, I wiped the frog’s paralysis pee onto the back of my pant legs and giddily chased the same frog again.  

The mud, akin to my skin, covered bits and pieces and layers and edges of myself that went dry. Like elephant skin, you could see the patterns of your own skin when the creek dried up from laying out in the heat too long.  

I kicked heavy feet through the dirty creek and was always searching for something.  

And now, I wonder why I am searching for time in nature, searching for time to stop so I can find peace. Why am I searching for answers in the green, for animals that distract me from all that wars?  

I am searching for mushrooms and think of other people, stacks of rocks that remind me of anger. Natural archways, that teach me resilience.  

I am searching for creekbeds like my childhood’s.  

I am searching for all things lost. Some sort of peace, some sort of acceptance out here in the woods again.  

Do you love me? Earth does not need to love me. Do you hear me? I am one person in the woods on a little trail. I am far away from losing my meaning.  

I am hunting in the woods like I did when I was a small child. I am hunting in the woods for my purpose, sanity, meaning, for all the people who have left me.  

If my meaning is to love, I'll find you again in rotting trees and scattered mushrooms or red aphids on dying leaves.  

I am hunting. Hunting to remember.  

~KJ

This piece is my original work. Please do not copy or reproduce it without my permission.~