Cold breath buffets my face. My eyes wander and gaze at the desolate creek, which lies barren and dry. The trees dance overhead. They shake themselves to the beat of the wind and drop little gifts that drift to the floor. One leaf glides before me, exhibiting its river-esque veins: a vibrant, clean, and intact yellow. Other leaves, which rest on the floor, ever so often whirl into life. I welcome each of these gusts. If made tiny, I could imagine a rocky desert with gargantuan cliffs looming tall on each side. A mighty canyon.

Yet, to me, it isn’t big. There is nothing special except the tranquility in simplicity.

Spring, however, tells a different story. Crashing waves, a cacophony of sound, and currents no one could withstand. This creek has risen to lethal levels of torrential, unrelenting waters. Sometimes, lower yards are flooded — a stark contrast to what I see now. In this moment this place shows no sign of its wild alternative. Yet, one knows it’s a creek, and water must flow through it. Indeed, it does. Some days it runs with an elegant green as the mosses and algae flourish. Water fleas, tadpoles, and many macroinvertebrates indulge themselves on that greenery.

A mosquito on my wrist breaks my thoughts. I squish it with a hint of malice. Until now, I’ve been facing downstream into arguably the deepest part of the creek, where multiple trees cast dense shadows. Now, I’ve turned and face upstream, where the sun bakes the leaf-littered rocks. Beyond lies the biggest waterfall, a rounded slope falling into a dip. I rid myself of distraction with one last smack on a different mosquito.

It’s well known that life has its ups and downs, but predicting is delusion. From a life that’s safe and stable — dry and dead — to a raging and crazy life full of pain and distress. However, there is balance. A flowing river vibrant in color and critters. It seems impossible to have these three happen in the same lifespan, yet one can live in two extremes with no indication of coming change.

A cursed mosquito practices gluttony atop my foot. My mind is sucked back into this sensory reality. The wind lavishes my back, flapping my shirt. I watch a single leaf: vibrant and clean, delight itself in flight. I leave the creek exactly as I found it: a desiccated sleep. I move on.