Morning at Manter Creek
12" X 16"
Watercolor
Our campsite by the creek sat in a pocket of trees that had
escaped the terrible fire. After scrabbling over and under the broken bones of
trees for a few miles, we came upon a broad glade drenched in cool, blue shade.
There, the creek widened out, running mossy green and earthy black, a lullaby
of sound between overhanging banks of grasses and mint.
It was the perfect spot, with logs encircling a campfire
ring and plenty of stubby branches to hang our gear. As we started to set up
camp, Clint sent me down to the creek, knowing I was itching try out my new
fishing pole. It was one of those spots so lovely you could just sit and absorb
it for hours. Ah, Domeland!
We did more fishing, than catching. The few little trout we caught
were gently returned to the water and bid farewell until our next trip. It was
heaven wandering along the bank, while taking in the glorious fragrance of the
creek: mud and decaying vegetation—that rich, sweet smell of living things
reuniting with the earth.
This idyllic creek soothed us to sleep and flowed through
our dreams. When the sun came up, beams of color broke through below the canopy
illuminating clumps of grass and casting fire upon the water. At the end of the
day, the soft coral light of sunset kissed the creek good night.
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