The Binding

Where the creek flows below 30th, there's a bench that overlooks the scott carpenter's park. Further down, the water level has receded and so one can sit on the stones at the bank. Today I had taken off early from work. I dropped my colleague and after not finding the friend at the house, I made my way to the creek. Sunlight bounced on the waters. The ripples looked like cloaks of darkness running away to somewhere. There was a line of stones where the water fell and made it's way around, becoming froth and bubbles. Once in a while a droplet would rise and fall on the skin, leaving a cool sensation. A girl came and sat behind me at a distance, reading some book. A man came by and put his fishing rod in the current, a few times, impatiently. A couple of dogs came to the other side of the bank and lapped up some water. Up on the scott carpenter's park hill, a family lay down, a little girl ran playfully. The leaves waved a little, the tree trunks stood still, and the water flowed generously, the mild roar drowning all other activity in the mind, every once in a while.

Watching the waters make their way, it occurred to me that memories are what bind me to what I am bound to.