I take off my hat as we walk down the dirt path to Balch Creek. The day is warm but the air is cool in the trees. The sun that penetrates the canopy has lost its strength—perhaps it is not needed here. We are sunken and safe. The road noise passes overhead as though a gabled roof filters the engines like painted glass. A small temple in a large city. Holy in the unholy. Moss covered pillars rise from the ground to shade the creek, nature’s organ. The birds, nature’s choir. Temples within temples. Newts scamper between buttercups and tall lilies. The backs of trout shine like abalone angels beneath the illuminated beech and maple. When there is no judgement there is no need to conceal, and so I remove my hat. It is fine if the creek knows the ways of my mind.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Miles Sarvis-Wilburn is a writer, researcher, and sustainable beekeeper based out of northern California. Find him in a corner of the internet called www.westwardness.com.