The Other Side

From my journal yesterday:

Last week we had over seven inches of rainfall in less than two days that left many roads in rural Wisconsin in disrepair and many creeks and rivers swollen.  Today I can walk once again up to the bank of Tom’s Creek but I still can’t walk across it to the other side.  

I’d like to hike on the trail to the knoll and look for mushrooms and smell the sweet pine trees that fill up all the open spaces in the woods over there, if I could just get to the other side.  I’ll have to wait until the water recedes enough to allow my knee boots to stay dry on the insides when I cross it.

I'm sitting on the creek bank on this balmy Sunday afternoon for a little journaling,  I’m enjoying the water sounds and watching the white bubbles flow quickly past me as they swirl around on the water’s surface, ever changing, never staying the same.

I can hear a few crickets chirping but it seems as though they are winding down and not nearly as noisy as they were a few weeks ago.  An occasional tree frog sings by itself in the woods on the other side.  A stiff breeze blows from the west.  It feels cooler now, as if the wind is trying to push the humid air away, like it’s saying “good-bye” to summer and “hello” to fall.

I don’t need to get to the other side of the creek today if I really think about it.  This side is good enough.  You and I need to remember to enjoy whatever side we’re on until the water levels go down and we can cross our creeks once again.  We need to be patient and enjoy what we see today, where we see it, and stop reaching all the time for more, for bigger, or better things, and appreciate what we already have, on whatever side of the creek we’re on right now.

As I made my way back to the cabin a young doe and I stared at each other for a moment, on this side of the creek.