By: G. Louis Heath

Our summer cottage stood at a bend in the creek,
a beautiful spot on Earth, unlike no other to us.

Here our family memories, good and bad, found a
home. It was our special place infused with meanings

that made our family what it should and should not be.
The creek looped in wide meanders, dividing the

hills above. It lost its nerve in shallows, then picked
up speed in white water before deepening along the

cottage. This past April, the creek roared deeply, and
jammed driftwood and splintered timbers into our

cottage’s happy times and sorrows. The life of the creek
and our family ran parallel, it seems. Water has its way.