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It was impossible to resist the lure of Sope Creek today, so sunny and mild for mid-February. (I was born and raised in the Midwest, remember.)  After lunch I made my way to the park and walked through the forest, savoring my usual lighthearted response to forest-walking and snapping who-knows-what-kind of photos with a  small, inexpensive film camera.  (How analog of me, eh?)  In due course I found myself by the creek and perfectly content to step out onto the rocks to just listen to the water.

I confess, I stretched out on my back on one of the larger rocks, turned my face to the sky and just listened.  Slowly I began to discern different sounds in the running water.  There were the expected rushing and plashing sounds, but now and then I could hear a deep ‘Blunk’, as if a large rock had been dropped into the depths.  I knew that was not the case so I hypothesized that it was the sound of a rush of water falling into a noticeably deep pocket near some of the rocks.  I started thinking about other sounds of ‘Water Music’ and wondering if someone living close and listening closely to a body of running water could hear changes in it.

I imagine someone familiar with the sound patterns of a river, stream or creek would be able to discern when it was running low or high, if something had fallen in to cause an obstruction, and perhaps whether there were an unusually large run of fish, or denser than normal growth of plant life.  I would guess those types of things would affect the rate and sound of the water’s flow.  It only makes sense to me that this would be the case.

The music of that creek flowing around me there on the rock, with the trees rooted and reaching along the shore, their ‘ankles’ ringed with moss of the lovelies green, is a treasure any day, any season of the year.

[[Photos: Mill Ruins at Sope Creek Park, Atlanta, GA; May 2011; Barbara Butler McCoy; Creek Rocks; Sope Creek Park, Atlanta, GA; May 2011; Barbara Butler McCoy]]