This creek in rural Adams County, Illinois might have a name but I’ve never heard one. I stopped the car for a break at a concrete bridge and gazed on the low drought-affected creek while generating an arc of urine which gracefully passed over the railing.
Just isolated pools remain after weeks of little rain. Duckweed flourishes in patches and the pools reflect a cloudy September sky:
So calm and quiet. I could hear the muted roar of a distant combine but little else. I zipped up and looked out at the upstream stretch of the creek. The view was darker and it was easy to see the scene as an abstract collage of textures:
I sighed with a trace of autumnal melancholy and proceeded on my way.