There are days when the piece of the world you are in wakes you up. Over the last couple of years, Standing Stone Creek has been that place. It runs through one of a couple of pieces of old growth forest in Pennsylvania. There, hemlocks nearly 1,000 years old thrive. Outside of the Pacific Northwest, you won’t find these trees so large – well over 120′ tall and over 3′ diameter at breast height. To celebrate this place, I stepped into the snowmelt-swollen stream and also slipped into it as I played at her edges.
“Sometimes in Standing Stone Creek”
A churning mid-May cascade pressed
snow melt and spring rain down the
swollen creek into which I stepped.
Swirling chill caresses gripped.
Her turbulent play pulsed against my hips.
Downstream trout were thriving as I
laughed at the snow melt’s lapping tongue,
twisting round my waist, frigid but urgent,
forthright in what she wanted:
some fool who tripped on slick roots.