As we drove away from my father's after our week long visit home and with at least 11 hours of driving in front of us I asked, "Who wants to see Slippery Rock Creek one last time?" Outvoted by the gals I realized I still held the steeling wheel in my hands, so a short side trip seemed like a good idea to me at least. The warmer water was throwing off hints of fog under the falls at the bridge, carrying with it all the smells of the forest. For nearly 40 years this has been where I'd go to just be "me." So many manifestations of myself have walked the shore, waded in the pools, and breathed in those fern scented smells. My soul is mottled dark green, gray and brown. It sounds of rolling water, drumming of rocks, echoes with cries of birds and smells of leaf litter, ferns and hemlock.
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