by Danetta Kellar
I never tire of sitting by the roaring waters of the creek that winds around two sides of our family cabin.
Built by my uncle when I was a small child, the refuge represents years of family gatherings. Folks have come and gone over the decades, but the flowing of the creek has never ceased.
In all my years of watching its waters, I have never seen them flow uphill.
Down, down, down they go, singing all the way. Mossy boulders lie strewn about as if a giant was interrupted in a game of marbles and left them scattered. But the water finds its way around them, even changing the surface of the rocks, smoothing their rough sharp edges.