I wasn't wearing the right shoes, sneakers aren't designed for slippery rocks. My socks were soggy. But that didn't bother me. I was exploring. A dull, lemony green moss covered some of the rocks, straw colored foliage sprung from various crevices.

I was following a babbling brook, a tiny river. My toes were frozen, the bottom of my jeans were wet but I couldn't care less. It wouldn't be the first time, and it won't be the last. The bubbly stream was talking, sparkling. It poured over the rocks, rocks of all sizes. Greys, browns, whites.

The water always called my name, and I answered. The various shallow pockets where water collected were still, but they were still magical. I was still. Amid the movement, the woods held its breath, and so did I.

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Photo Credit: SarahBabineau via Life of Pix