An Ode to Rhudes Creek (and all the intimate natural places that call us home).

I don’t remember the first time I saw you or splashed my feet in your waters. I was too small.

I don’t know your history before my family. The Shawnee, Cherokee, and Osage people knew you then. You were probably tumbling down a slightly different path, but I bet you were filled with crayfish and turtles. Your banks were lined with reeds and trout lilies.

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