Before we know words there are sights and sounds to hold. Moonlight. Crickets. A smile. Smells, too. Dinner cooking. Perfume. Why am I a poet?
Can a creek be a friend to a human? Putah Creek feels like a friend to me. See how the rain drops tickle her watery skin? A sacred thing, that. The rain brings life to the creek, and the creek brings life to this part of the valley. The sacred in me recognizes the sacred in you. Old friend.