creative energy

I can remember sticking my toes deep into the bottom of an Idaho stream and gently wiggling them. I then watched as reddish brown clouds of soil floated up and around my my porcelain white legs until they disappeared into the stream. I can still remember the feel of the ice cold mountain water. It would make my legs numb, as the sound of the water, running, running, against my skin, hypnotized me.

I would then come to the childish conclusion that: if I could not see, nor feels my legs, then they were not there. So that would mean, I was river from knee cap too big toe.

Then I would sway my arms up and listen intently to leaves rustling in the Quakies along the bank; they who were white like me, with gnarled muddy knee caps.

In was in those moments, I was plugged into the earth, like some chlorophyll seeking flower, not yet ready to be plucked.

I was just river-movement, and a growing, vulnerable, trusting, bit of life.