A Creek called Memory

There once was a creek called Memory.

Fish darted beneath the sparkling surface,

Dragonflies flitted over the top,

As woodland creatures made their daily journey to drink the cool water.

A girl walks down to the creek.

Her hair filled with leaves and sticks,

Feet bare as she walks along the grass,

Eyes the same color of leaves covered with frost; she stops and sits on the bank of the creek.

She rests on a moss cushion.

A finger trailing absently in the water,

Her mind farther away than distance,

Going back through time to the days when she was young.

She thinks of what had been,

The laughter and joy,

The pain and sorrow,

Her triumphs and failures; all her memories stored within her mind.

She looks into the creek.

Hearing the screams of laughter,

The voices of loved ones,

A tear falls into the creek as she quietly mourns the childhood that is now over.

A hand wipes away her tears.

The gentle ripples from the tear fade and disappear,

Restoring the creek to mirror-like smoothness,

She looks up through the branches of the trees surrounding the creek at the sky far above.

Her eyes light up.

There is more ahead of her,

More than just the memories she holds,

So she stands and bids her childhood a tender farewell as she faces the unknown future, confident.

She stands up and walks away.

She leaves behind her early years,

As she walks the wind blows the leaves and twigs from her hair,

She begins to go faster, her feet gaining speed until she is running towards life with all her heart.

Years pass and all that is left is a creek called Memory.

Fish darted beneath the sparkling surface,

Dragonflies flitted over the top,

As woodland creatures made their daily journey to drink the cool water.

A woman walks down to the creek.

Her hair filled with leaves and sticks,

Feet bare as she walks along the grass,

Eyes the same color of leaves covered with frost; she stops and sits on the bank of the creek.

With her is a child.

A perfect copy of the girl that once was,

Holding hands with the woman that once came to the creek called Memory as a girl.

Now it is her turn to come and add to the creek called Memory.