The Almost Waterfall Day

Potential Series: Almost Nothings

**I will likely make edits to this, because it doesn't read as lyrical or as poetic as I want.

However, posting before my edits are complete is what helps me edit. It is like I have to know people are reading it, and get embarrassed because my brain only knows how to function in panic mode**

The Almost Waterfall Day:

I spent the morning preparing for the waterfall.

Snacks and drinks, check.
New pool towels, check.
Children semi-willing, check.
Husband behind the wheel, me navigating,
the car packed like a mobile hope chest
for the perfect day.

We had been driving an hour,
watching the clouds gather like gossip on the horizon,
and still I thought, maybe they’ll hold off.
Maybe we’ll outrun it.
Maybe this time, we’ll win.

We didn’t.

The rain came like it had something to prove,
thick, loud, unapologetic.
Thunder rolled in behind it like a closing argument,
and lightning licked at the edges of the sky
just to make sure we were paying attention.

We pulled into a fast food place,
ate limp fries in the parking lot,
and made a new plan.
Because that’s what you do, right?
You pivot.
You tell the kids, “this will be fun too,”
and you hope they believe you.

So we turned the car around,
two hours the other direction,
toward a swimming hole we knew,
this time triple-checking the forecast
like a prayer.

When we got there,
it was packed.
No parking.
No space.
No room to even pretend this was what we wanted.

I suggested we keep driving,
a few more switchbacks,
a few more curves along the creek.
And then,
like a secret only we were meant to find,
there it was:

A narrow shoulder on the mountain’s edge,
a slip of creek deep enough to swim,
cascading water spilling down the rocks
like it had been waiting for us.

No one else was there.
We claimed it,
that little piece of the mountain.

The boys skipped rocks and waged pool noodle wars.
My husband wandered,
touching leaves like they might tell him something.
And I,
I floated,
on my back in the deepest part of the creek,
the sun sharp on my face,
the water shocking against my skin
until I stopped resisting
and let it hold me.

For a breath,
I forgot.

Forgot the emails waiting,
the calendar swallowing up next week,
the people, so many people,
pulling at me in a dozen quiet ways.

Because in that moment,
I belonged to the creek.
The water carried me,
the trees looked down like old friends,
the rocks built a small barricade
between me and the rest of the world.

Above me,
the clouds changed shape:
beasts, myths,
a woman’s face,
smiling like she’d been here all along

as if she just wanted to say,

“You survived the storm,
now dare to enjoy the sun.”