"Calera Creek" (Text & Image Copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
“Memory is not a place we leave behind. It is a living path—an invitation to revisit the sacred and carry it forward.” ~Wylddane
There’s a path I still walk often—though now it’s more with my heart than my feet. Calera Creek, just before it slips into the waiting arms of the Pacific at Rockaway Beach, remains etched into my soul. I can still hear the soft hush of water weaving its way through the restored wetlands, the rhythmic crunch of my footsteps on gravel, the gentle greeting of a fellow traveler. Birdsong danced through the air—red-winged blackbirds, herons, even the rare echo of a California least tern overhead. The creek sang a song older than memory, and I listened with my whole being.
To walk there was to become part of something greater. I was not separate from nature—I was nature. The frogs whispered beneath the reeds, the cormorants nested along the quarry cliffs like guardians, and now and then, I’d pause and wonder if I was being quietly observed by a San Francisco garter snake or a red-legged frog. These wild neighbors, some endangered and rarely seen, were still kin—flickering threads in the great woven tapestry of Earth’s breath.
And though I now sit at my wee cottage in the northwoods, mug of coffee cradled in hand, I find myself walking there once more—barely needing to close my eyes. The inspiration I once found on that trail continues to flow through me like the creek itself. Memory is not a place we leave behind. It is a living path—an invitation to revisit the sacred and carry it forward.
So if I seem to wander down Memory Lane a bit more often these days, it is only because there is beauty there...and wisdom…and a reminder that we are always part of the wonder. Always.
And as this morning unfolds in birdsong and possibility, I wish you the same: a magical day, an inspirational moment, and a quiet reminder that you too are one with all of it.
~Wylddane
There’s a path I still walk often—though now it’s more with my heart than my feet. Calera Creek, just before it slips into the waiting arms of the Pacific at Rockaway Beach, remains etched into my soul. I can still hear the soft hush of water weaving its way through the restored wetlands, the rhythmic crunch of my footsteps on gravel, the gentle greeting of a fellow traveler. Birdsong danced through the air—red-winged blackbirds, herons, even the rare echo of a California least tern overhead. The creek sang a song older than memory, and I listened with my whole being.
To walk there was to become part of something greater. I was not separate from nature—I was nature. The frogs whispered beneath the reeds, the cormorants nested along the quarry cliffs like guardians, and now and then, I’d pause and wonder if I was being quietly observed by a San Francisco garter snake or a red-legged frog. These wild neighbors, some endangered and rarely seen, were still kin—flickering threads in the great woven tapestry of Earth’s breath.
And though I now sit at my wee cottage in the northwoods, mug of coffee cradled in hand, I find myself walking there once more—barely needing to close my eyes. The inspiration I once found on that trail continues to flow through me like the creek itself. Memory is not a place we leave behind. It is a living path—an invitation to revisit the sacred and carry it forward.
So if I seem to wander down Memory Lane a bit more often these days, it is only because there is beauty there...and wisdom…and a reminder that we are always part of the wonder. Always.
And as this morning unfolds in birdsong and possibility, I wish you the same: a magical day, an inspirational moment, and a quiet reminder that you too are one with all of it.
~Wylddane
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