the other side

you take your
shoes off
to cross the creek.
the water
is high and grey
in the low
sun of november.
you can see blue
stones along
the bottom, cold
and round
in their beds.
there are trees
that have fallen
across, broken
and being washed
away. too fragile
to walk upon.
you roll up
your pants
in the shadows
of rock
and leafless
trees
holding your
shoes high
in the air, there
is a patch of
sun in the green
moss that will
warm your feet,
and like a tight
rope walker
you cross
the water
to the other side.