Perhaps My Creek Washes Away Me

The day was wearing on when the old man gingerly stepped outside; Thanks to an earlier breeze and short rainfall, cool air greeted, arms wide. “The air is clearer too!” he cheered… though only in his head, he hopingly joked, But smog had finally reached out to them, mostly due to wildfires smoked. He winced as he closed the door, that thumb pain still surprising, despite back and knee. Down the porch steps he teetered just the tiniest bit, but sure none else could see, He took his time strolling slowly to what had been his and his dear’s Favorite part of their neighborhood walk for more than forty years. That thought tugs a string running through his aging soul (since she walks along “no-mo”) But it’s been tugged so often and by so very much of late, he just lets it go. The man’s grumpy veneer wavers as he turns up the alley just next door. Yet with stream running alongside, it isn’t just an alley in neighborhood lore. The old man has taken to calling it Ersatz Creek, though few know the joke therein, But an irrigation ditch has given this two-block stretch a zone with its very own zen. Backyard fences, trees and flowers, even curious wildlife serve sweet solace here, And the hurried exerciser slows one’s pace as a kind of meditation spreads inner cheer. Into this rich world the old man descends, a favored but seldom sought target in mind, He slowly strolls, resolved to really see each flower, bee, and floating leaf his eyes can find. Reaching where path and Creek diverge, he edges past a tree into a secluded place. By wear, he’s sure others come here when cares become nearly too much to face, A little time, perhaps a bit of prayer, allowing the Stream to wash away worries and such debris. The old man sits alone for a while, then thinks, “Perhaps this time my Creek washes away me.”