Creekside …

We yearn for a change from town living …

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… an escape to a peaceful backyard.

 

My driver just whiles away the day … morning, noon, evening, dusk and nighttime too. Read, reflect, restore … and repeat. A boat navigates the creek at night – going veerrryy slow. Over 100 years ago, Robert Frost penned “The Sound of Trees” …

I wonder about the trees.
Why do we wish to bear
Forever the noise of these
More than another noise
So close to our dwelling place?
We suffer them by the day
Till we lose all measure of pace,
And fixity in our joys,
And acquire a listening air.

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Other sounds grace this place, and one source is found by wandering just a few yards away.

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I’m later told by those who know such things that some trout hang out close to the waterfall – easy to catch, and tasty to fry. We however are just going to cool ourselves by dipping in the refreshing pool.

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And our view from the pool??

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And from our home site …

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… this is what we see out the door.

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Why does traveling tortuga live in a tiny home? Hmmm … we’ll think about that while listening to the cool winds rustling the trees as we hide from the summer sun; while we hear other campers out and about in the dusk; while we listen to little kids racing around with delightful squeals in the dark; while we overhear competing camps softly playing country western music about love and love lost; while the lowing cows across the creek join a chorus of crickets. And now, while deep in thought, a myriad of stars pop out to populate the dark sky. We’ll get back to ya on that …

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