Ephemeral Creek Jutting in to the river, a fluvial beach, but before we rest on the picnic blanket, we must ford a frigid torrent. We choose a narrowish crossing that isn’t too deep, pants rolled up to our knees, each of us carrying a twin, some snacks, our shoes. The smooth boulders taunt the unaccustomed soles of our feet. Murderous, aching bone cold, it occurs I’d do anything for the throbbing to stop, though it’s only a few moments and just knee deep. I slip then right myself while clutching my child, the agony subsides, I release him onto the bank. The four of us lie on the pebbly blanket in the partial sun, the toddlers poke cracker bits into our mouths, throw branches at the current, fall onto us for shelter from the valley’s rare wind until they topple off in a heap of giggles. Soon the twins will tramp on the dry bed of the ephemeral creek but not before we wade back with them in our arms. Let’s decorate the dove.