Through tangled brush We make our way To the creek bed Cooling summer feet In crystal water. Butterflies With gossamer wings Skitter up the bank, Fanning honeysuckle vines. Suddenly, a head shoots From beneath a mossy rock, A crawdad staking claim to his territory - As if little girls pose a threat. Later, on a picnic cloth They arrange their treasures, A speckled feather, an odd shaped Rock, a golden leaf. Unlike their “find,” my treasures Are images - images of two giggling girls Arms outstretched Ready to Embrace the world - Ready EVEN to walk on water.
"All the characters who have housed my stories now have permanent apartments in my head - I still have tea with them." bw