Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • I am not a full time creek.

    For 98% of the year I am just a ditch, an obstacle in a forest path that itself is not much of path. A tiny river of rocks, mostly Cretaceous sandstone, remnants of vast deserts that were in this place hundreds of millions of years ago.

    I have no memory of that.

    I am mostly unremarkable.

    Not noteworthy much less photo worthy.
  • But two weeks ago, in the quiet of the night, more than 12 inches of clean snow covered everything around here. Including me.

    A week of freezing temperatures might have led me to believe it would last forever.

    But the sun. There is no stopping the powerful Arizona sun.

    And up there, on the high cliffs above that I know only by word of water, the place called the Mogollon Rim, the melting and melting and melting unleashed life into me.

    I can can now speak, gurgle, glisten, reflect.

    For but a week.

    I am yes, for that week, a creek.
    • Share

    Connected stories:

About

Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.