All you needed was a pair of water shoes
or, in our case, a pair of old sneakers.
You didn’t mind getting soaked.
From there, you just rolled up your pant legs,
if you weren’t already wearing shorts,
or cut-off jeans,
and you were ready for creek walking.
The cold, clear creek water
rushing past our ankles,
and sometimes our calves,
was refreshing on hot summer days,
skittered about as we stepped.
The swiftly running water
over time tumbled smooth
many small stones,
of shiny earth tones, and these
we collected as precious gems.
Turning over larger stones
often let loose a crayfish,
a special find if you were quick enough
to grab him before he scuttled away.
If you had an aquarium net
and a small bucket
you could carry home a crayfish
and maybe some minnows.
It was a simple pleasure,
the creek walk,
a pastime of a slower time,
a way to connect to the
water and stones and