Above all, a creek offers the mind a chance to penetrate the alien universe of water, of tadpoles and trout. What drifts in creek water is the possibility of other worlds inside and above our own. Poet Robert Frost wrote: "It flows between us, over us, and with us. And it is time, strength, tone, light, life, and love.

Creeks lead one on, like perfume on the wind. A creek is something that disappears around a bend, into the ground, into the next dimension. To follow a creek is to seek new acquaintance with life.

I still find myself following creeks. In high mountain meadows I"ll trace their course into the limegreen grass and deep glacial duff, marveling at the sparkle of quartz and mica. The pursuit liquefies my citified haste and lifts weight from my shoulders. Once, in the California desert, as hummingbirds darted from cactus blossoms, I heard the babble of rushing water. My ears led me over dusty hillsides and sown scabrous ravines to an unexpected ribbon of clear, cold water, leaping from rock to rock, filling little pools. The discovery seemed Biblical. It filled me with joy.