He
glides down the creek on old dead logs and broken
boards.
Water spiders scurry from his path as he paddles
through
chickweed and algae.
Tadpoles and tiny fish pass underneath,
while overhead, geese announce their presence
with their loud annoying honks.
He glides past bulrushes, which hide small
creatures,
or maybe great and horrible monsters too terrible to
imagine.
He is an adventurer, exploring new lands and new
dangers.
He arrives at the dike, beyond which lies the mighty
river.
Someday he will explore that too, but now it is time
to go home,
for Mother has called him to supper.
Factories now line the creek,
which is now a culvert hidden in a large pipe.
The water, if it could be seen, is now a black
sludge.
Water spiders no longer scurry.
Tadpoles and tiny fish no longer pass underneath.
Terrible monsters no longer hide in the rushes.
It is called progress, but the young adventurer does
not understand.
Creeks are for exploring, not for factories.
Bulrushes are meant to hide monsters.
The
young adventurer is grown now.
He looks back at what once was, and is no longer.
He wishes his children could explore this same
waterway,
but knows it is not to be.
But he knows, they too, in their own way, will become
Huck Finns.
by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul
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