When we moved to a house on Issaquah Creek, a whole new
awareness opened for me. I discovered that a stream is a living
thing. At the height of summer our stream is a placid, bubbly
place where children race up the banks, leap into the water to
float downstream on inner tubes, only to jump out and repeat
the process. Towheaded boys with goggles poke the recesses of
the deeper pools looking for crawdads. Our stream is a friendly
place.
But I remember, all too well, a night last January when I
could get home only by crossing a mountain pass, fording a
flood, and at last coming to my house. The creek had become
a raging torrent, blocking every access but one to this valley. I
remember looking out in the blackness of the stormy night and
seeing that friendly little creek, which had breached a ten-foot
bank and had now become a threatening enemy.
Marcus Aurelius said, "Time is a sort of river of passing
events." You can t stop time, you can t reverse its direction,
and you can t turn it back. Sometimes it flows by relatively
friendly and peaceful. At other times it is a raging torrent that
sweeps us along out of control. The only thing you can hope to
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