Bear Creek

Dew clings to the sleepy grass of an early spring morning. I make my way slowly to the creek with the intention of a quick, heart-stopping dip in the frigid water.

As I begin to undress, my thoughts drift to the night before and the man whose sleeping bag I have just left. The memory of his warm arms clashes drastically with the prickle of piercingly cold, damp rocks on my now bare feet. The discussion was the same; he is ready for children, but I…