When I was a kid summertime meant freedom. Roaming. Exploring. And one place my friends and I spent time was the creek.
Early summer would find it still deep enough to come up to my thighs. And, man, was it cold.
We would walk up the creek, marveling at the wonders around us. Finding cool rocks. Talking about life.
But when I wasn't careful I would lose my footing. I'd step on a wobbly rock or a slippery one and down I'd go. Sometimes I got caught in the current and was carried a ways downstream before I could get my feet under me again.
Well, I've lost my footing. I was going along okay, but I guess I wasn't watching where I was going. Suddenly I was down and going the wrong direction. I was cold and floundering. I think I've stopped losing ground and I'm very carefully trying to get back on my feet.
This happens. Over and over this happens. It's so frustrating. And sometimes it's very scary. What if I can't catch myself this time? What if I float so far away no one can find me? What if I drown?
I have always found my footing in the past. I believe I will this time as well. The sun will come out and begin to warm me as it dries my clothes. I will find my way back to my friends.
But right now I'm just stepping oh so carefully. One wrong move and I'll be down again. And I don't want to be down again; the fight to get back up can be so hard.