slowpoke creek got all the time in the world
puttering and meandering through the countryside,
refusing to be rushed;
in due course emptying into lake of the pines some miles distance.
a Texas crick is bigger than most streams elsewhere.
slowpoke creek is an aberration.
wonderment and awe make up for what it lacks in deepness and breath.
eyes closed and ears attuned to Nature’s Orchestra –
ripples, trickles, gurgles, babbles and burbles.
tree branches creak and squeak in a heavy wind,
like one might make tippy-toeing on grandma’s old worn floorboards or
a high groaning sound of a rusty gate swinging shut.
grandma’s 40 acres butts up to slowpoke at honeysuckle bend,
home to singing crawdads, quiet-as-mouse minnows, prrreeeping frogs, splashing turtles and the like.
likely as not, majestic oaks so wide fingers won’t touch when hugging;
less likely than not, pines so tall they tickle the toes of angels.
ideal spot for seasonal canning –
pawpaw jams, better boy tomatoes, dixiland peaches and what have you
sneaking a mouthwatering taste before sealed in the mason jar.
the perfumery of honey, jasmine and ripe citrus
mingled with earthy musty odors, decaying leaves and the occasional rotten egg.
clover and cow manure to the nostrils of the cattle rancher!
tak’in together evoking the Sweet and Sour tartness of Texas.
butterflies and hummingbirds will do their thing,
providing buzzing bumble bees are left napping.
a Yellow-bellied Sapsucker and a Tufted Titmouse,
when done in unison produce a sound well worth the listening…
the rat-tat-tat of the woodpecker,
the “peter-peter-peter” clear whistle of the Titmouse.
throw in the smell of smoke from a small crackling wood burning fire
used for canning and keeping piddling pesky skeeters at bay,
slowpoke creek at honeysuckle bend,
few better places found to hang your hat…
