By Amanda John
Grade 10
Eden Prairie High
Kristen Strand-Young — Teacher

My back to the city my face towards the “wilderness”, I lay on a withering tree, legs dangling. The old oak tree groans its displeasure as I stretch. Underneath my perch, young chickadees sing sweetly. Between songs I can hear the calm and constant sound of the creek. This creek is the life support of the whole forest. The animals drink from it, the fish travel through it, and the tree depends on its moist soiled bank to grow in.

The amazing thing about spring is the new fresh colors. The blooming trees burst forth in deep emerald hues. The creek reflects the greens, pale but true. Small lone fishes trek down the creek. Their pass over shallower water causes the surface to flicker with rainbows of reflected light. I quietly sit a welcomed visitor.

My grandmother’s cat Missy stares at me intently from a rock below my perch. She meows at me, calling me to her side, though her pleas are hardly heard over the babble of the creek. I know she wants me to see that she has caught a sparrow, but I ignore her. I close my eyes and listen to the sweet serenade of the forest.

After a while I open my eyes, not wanting to fall asleep. I sit up, and search the creek bank for animal life. I spot a mother white tailed deer and her fawn. They drink freely from the creek as I stare in awe. The moment is too short for me. The doe’s black rimmed eyes flick up to me in a second. She lifts her head cautiously, and the tree gives another groan underneath me as if to ruin the moment. In the blink of an eye, they disappear back into the grove of trees behind them. I sigh heavy hearted, that I could not watch them for longer. The forest looks darker now, the creek grey with shadow. I decide with hesitation that I should go home, knowing that dinner would need to be made.

Taking the small deer path home, I think about my quiet day by the creek. I smile, knowing that if water could speak, it would tell me stories all day. I leave excited for the next morning, when I can return to my comfy perch.

Later at my house in the suburbs, stress from school and friends lays heavy on my shoulders. I rub my temples, my brain thumping in my skull, as I buckle down to do some algebra homework. I slump back and close my eyes for a second. I think about lying on my perch in the forest, and the sweet babble of the creek. I remember my grandmother telling me what the name of the creek was when I was little, now I only call it Tranquility Creek for the peace it brings me when I ever think about it. Although it may not be considered “wilderness”, many wild animals call it home. I like to think I will always have my peaceful, comfy perch by the creek. So that even when I am old and grey, I can lay by its side and listen to its stories.