If I were a fish, I thought, I’d like grasshoppers. Their leggy bodies moved like drawings against the confines of the Mason jar.
Dragonflies skimmed the surface of the water racing liquid shadows. Grandma cast her pole in and leaned back on the gravel sandbar, big legs stretched stick straight, ankles crossed, rod in one hand, and line in the other, feeling for movement, and waiting.
I sat beside her memorizing the shape and color of plants along the creek bank, watching the sky as the sun shifted, feeling safe on the crumbling bank.
Picked grass and braided it like hair.
Organized twigs into piles by shape and scale; peeled gray bark off like skinned knees and ran my fingers over the hard surface.
What have you seen today?