It’s a River

He is grown now.  He has his own children who will, not so long from now, have children of their own.  But Brandon was four, the day I walked with him through cottonwood trees to see the creek parading though my small town.

Doctors had opened up his mother—my sister—like an apple with bad seeds.

The seeds had to go.

We kicked at some stones along the way.

Brandon found a stick he liked.

The creek was dark and swollen, having recently been fed by heavy rains in the Elkhorn Mountains.  I took Brandon’s hand as we neared the water.  “The creek is dirty,” I said.

I will never forget his response.  “It’s a river,” Brandon reprimanded.  “And calling water dirty isn’t nice.”

I smiled. “You’re absolutely right, Brandon.”

I was older and had so much to unlearn.

-- Mitchell Hegman