ever dumbening Urban creeks get shunted and covered, their beds of liquid mesmer corsetted and silenced. It crosses my mind that were the pharmaceutical megacorps to know of their healing, the streams would be erased altogether. I make my way up Codornices Creek by weaving back and forth along the street grid transecting.

The creeks are swollen today, calling me with throaty song, their health and mine intertwined. At a small bend, the six-tree stand of coast redwoods holds sway over the parsing of bubbles. My hiking boot soles are glued to the rain soaked bank by physics, by metaphysics. Two more members of The Guild of the Moment - a German Shepherd and his man - sit and contemplate nothing, drugged as I.

A runner, a yapping standard Poodle, and refreshed eucalyptus and bay trees showering scent are all drawn here, where muted light and sound perform as expected in any holy place. I bury my face in the wind, now in the role once served by a linen cassock.
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