There are leeches in the creek.
If you stay out here where the sun
shines through to bottom it will be okay.
Just avoid those shadowed pools.
Even on a hot July day,
the water is too cold to go
seeking shade, back under the boughs
of overhanging hemlocks, dark
with the mysteries of forest. Stay here
by me on this gravel spit,
where the water laughs at the sun
and runs away in little ripples
down into its stillness of pools.
There are leeches in those pools.
Stephen Brooke ©2011
A very quick and not very ambitious little piece. It references a childhood memory from the Hocking Hills -- I was jotting down something unrelated on that subject when the idea came to me.
I'm finding that the more I write, the more I write! Get in a groove, y'know? This is why I don't paint when I write (and vice versa). One just fills me up and there's no room for the other. Music sort of overlaps writing so it's not quite the same there. But some.