Crossing The Stream

At the back of the campground–my temporary village that is now bustling with kids on bikes due to spring break–I heard there was a “wooden bridge” that crossed to a trail. I couldn’t find it, because it turns out it was stepping stones–at that point submerged due to a flow of rain.
Eventually they emerged–enticing, daunting. I’m pretty crippled, and slick is not my thing.

But I just had to cross. And let me say it was a lot more exciting for me than for the average person! On the other side, lovely woods with some redbud and a sudden feeling of being away…then a daunting flight of steps UP. I’ve been adding a few minutes every day. I don’t think I’ll get to town, the end of the trail. But at least I’ve gotten out.

It turns out that many of the visual artists who have stayed in the cabin have painted or photographed these very stones. They are a barrier, and they lead somewhere–the essence of creative process.

stepping stones
too old to cross
too young not to try