Against the Current

I marched down the dirt trail toward the town stream. A thick oak branch lay half-submerged in the rushing shallows, snagged against the clay bank. Hmph. I did not step around it. I waded straight in, gravel grinding under my heels while cold water surged against my shins. I planted both feet deep into the silt, clamped my hands around the rough bark, and heaved. Grunt. The branch tore free with a muddy slosh, swinging straight downstream into the swift current. I stood immovable, watching the swirling ripples break against my thighs.