Creek of my summers – was named Bear Creek and it was roughly three blocks from my childhood home in Sheridan, Colorado. I miss those times of yesteryear, mostly I miss my summers on Bear Creek. Little did my friends and I know that those memories we made on those hot summer days would walk with us through the rest of our lives. One of my most profound memories of the creek of my summers was one year my friends all happened to be on family vacations at the same time leaving me all alone on the bank of Bear Creek. I was far from lonely that summer as I sat in the high grass with my feet dangling in the cool flowing water of Bear Creek, because I discovered new friends and they kept me entertained that summer. My new friends were writers like H. G. Wells, Louis L’amour, Jules Verne, and Edgar Rice Burrows. These men, these strangers somehow knew what I needed that summer while my friends were away and I was never lonely in between the pages of their stories. Yes, a big portion of my wonder years was centered on the – Creek of my summers.
“Creek of my summers”
Now I am a lot older and far away,
I remember, the summers that started in May.
Down to the banks of old Bear Creek,
Young lad dreams, adventures, we would seek.
Bear Creek was not wide, not deep, not swift,
Perfect to give us tykes a summer lift.
We tubed, we swam, and we would wade,
We, as young boys, had it made.
Caught sunburns more than rainbow trout,
Somehow that was what it was all about.
Timeless friends, best of, we were all,
Splashing, dunking, until we would hear our Mothers call.
Going home when day turned to night,
Returning the next day, at early dawn light.
Now I am older and far away,
Smile when I think of young summer days.
By Kurt James
Kurt James © 2016
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