Along the Path

Along the path, under Chicago Avenue, where the creek is overflowing its banks, I saw a fish, a dinner-for-two sized fish. I’ve never seen a fish in Minnehaha creek. And after, where the left tine of the fork becomes dirt, the trees and bushes and wild flowers lean in close. The air is fat with creek water and sand and pine, black soil and prairie grass. Be careful of all the magic out there.

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