Spring Stream

This small stream is at Red River Gorge. I’ve hiked along it numer­ous times over the years, in all sea­sons. Often I was in the com­pa­ny of fam­i­ly or friends, some­times it was just me and our dog, and occa­sion­al­ly I was alone. 

To get here one must make a steep descent, no mat­ter from which direc­tion you are approach­ing. That means that leav­ing here you pre­pare your­self men­tal­ly for a steep ascent; walk­ing up out of the val­ley to reach the ridgetop seems to take a lit­tle longer each year. 

This scene is of the spot where I have stopped to have lunch many times, usu­al­ly just a sim­ple PB&J sand­wich.  It’s a qui­et spot, qui­et being defined as only hear­ing the sound of the water falling over the rocks. Except in the win­ter, I sit on the bank or on one of those rocks in the stream with my shoes off and let the cold water flow around and over my feet. If our water lov­ing gold­en retriev­er AbbyD, now gone and deeply missed, was on the hike she would prance about in the water look­ing for a deep enough hole to swim in, even in the winter.

I fin­ish eat­ing my sand­wich, lin­ger­ing over the mem­o­ries I have of this place.