My Thinking Place

As a teen I sat on a fallen tree across a creek,

swinging my legs, watching water rush past,  

as minnows wriggled and crawdads scuttled as if sent.

I breathed in earthy air with wafts of lilac scent.

A leafy canopy covered me, and its boughs would creak,  

as I mulled over life’s puzzlements and the time passed.

I live in town now, and that special place is now in the past.

Its memories reminding me that, though heaven sent,

our experiences are like leaves floating along in the creek.

And like lilacs by a creek—past friends leave their lingering scent.