I shared a poem last week and it felt really great. This piece is a combination of poetry and prose. I actually created this from a couple of poems I wrote for a creative writing class I took. Writing it was fun, especially because I got the chance to relive my nature walk that inspired the poems about bodies of water and pathways. Words are so inspiring, and they're even more powerful when they come from personal experiences. Here's my short creative story based on a walk I took one day.

Waterways and Pathways

Whispering winds quell the raging rivers and streams that house fish composed of many colors, but there are also hues that fill the leaves, giving them more than simply texture. I find myself getting lost in the twirling leaves that depart from their givers of life. Beneath the leaves are dirt roads and trails. Some pathways are unclear, some lead to the calming streams; these bodies of water contain vital sources of life.

The woods are often a familiar place. Trees, and leaves, in greens, reds, yellows, and oranges. My vision is captivated by the overwhelming multitude of life. Small bushes and tinier plants dust the ground like daisies in a field.

Small white daisies on the bank remind passersby like me to appreciate small aspects of life, hanging onto the nutrients of the soil, provided partly by the rivers. The lakes are glass, except when rain is like tears, when the flow of saltwater blurs the leaves into foggy colors, whirlwinds of emotion combine with the leaves and their texture, adding complexity and confusion to the twists and turns of the trails. My thoughts blend together, as the confusion of real and unreal allows me to momentarily forget the chaotic events I face in my daily life.

Pebbles and stones at the bottom add to the texture, the parts of the stream that aren’t alive. Waves leap onto the banks of the trail, showing that strongest of the bodies is not a stream, though many of them are similar in color. Deep or shallow, they all could mimic a pool of tears. My dreamlike state allows me to envision the beauty of the world in my own little one, in the places I have traveled to.

I pay tribute to the streams. They are sometimes small, but mighty is their strength and complicated is their texture; other bodies of water have size, but the clarity of a stream far exceeds a river’s.

I miss seeing the sunlight when the canopy above me shuts out its rays. The air, though cool and peaceful, also seems lonely and quiet. Almost too quiet. Suddenly home feels safer than the “great” outdoors. Looking around, I discover that I no longer feel alone. And so I retreat back to the comfort of home, taking my departure from the nature that has given my life a bit more clarity.