When I was young at the creek, I would always walk with my parents, with friends, or just myself. It never mattered who I was with, I’ve always loved that path along the creek. All the rocks you could jump across, all the small and calming openings in the trees that always usually had a convenient log lying there almost begging for someone to come and sit down. My favourite part about that little path, and the thing I always remember whenever I think about it, is the huge willow trees hanging above the path.

When I was young at the creek, I would always take very deep breaths to smell the cool, crisp air. The air by the creek always seemed so much cleaner and free, opposed to the air around the street, which was only a little ways away. There are so many birds along that path, specifically red-winged blackbirds. They can sometimes get really annoying, but they are extremely beautiful birds, so I always let it slide.

When I was young at the creek, I remember running through the path trying to make sure I wasn’t late meeting a friend. I remember the cold, morning air blowing against my face as I ran alongside that same creek. I still managed to be five minutes late.

I remember almost every weekend, P.D. day, or even just any remotely nice day, I would always ask my parents to go on a walk and every time they said yes. That creek was always where we would walk. Everything I tried to learn to ride, like a bike, scooter, skateboard, we always went down that path. I miss these walks. Almost every memory I have from when I was younger has something to do with that same old creek.