Rivers When is a creek a river and when is a river a creek? I imagine an engineer could point to it having to do with water, volume, and time of year. In my world there was always a creek or a river, to fish in, to swim in, to float on. When I was seven my dad took me fishing, just he and I. I was in a state of high alert as I cast a bobbin upstream. I could smell the ripe detritus of life cycles in that water. And dirt, it smelled like dirt. That smell imprinted on my memory so that many fertile waters would feel like home. On the surface, a graceful black snake swam through rotting leaves- dragonflies danced with small insects in the shadow of a cottonwood I waited quietly and watched. From the bottom of the river, A mossy green catfish, whiskers waving, breached the surface and took the bait flipping and trying to run away with the worm. My first catch. Filleted and fried and it tasted like mud and earth. Now the river was in my belly.