Risk

We were in Sedona a couple of weeks ago. We snagged two days in this incredible place at a time share that's come as close as anything else to replacing the cabin we had in Prescott and that we sold about five years ago.
Arroyo Roble sets on the banks of Oak Creek, a beautiful creek that runs through the canyon between Flagstaff and Sedona and farther south.
After sleeping the first day, I took a walk the afternoon of the second day. I made my way down the bank (about three feet) and across the rock-strewn wash to creek side. A couple of ducks were in the babbling creek. A red rock canyon wall rose on the other side. Where I was a large red rock was in the middle of the creek. It was about maybe 10 yards from one side of the creek to the other. The large red smooth rock was just a few feet from my side of the creek. You could step your way to it on the tops of smaller rocks. I did. Sitting there in the middle of the stream, watching ducks, the small waterfall upstream, the widening brook downstream. And eventually my eyes fixed on the other side of the creek and the wide red ledge and path that led upstream and down.
There were two limbs lying across the river within steps of the rock where I perched. I could easily walk along those limbs to the other side.
I thought about it for a while, walking along those logs to the other side. My heart began to beat a titch faster anticipating the walk, imagining the risks. If I fell, it was shallow. The current wasn't too swift. I wouldn't die. I'd just get wet.
It seemed a bigger risk to stay put and only imagine reaching the other side. Only imagine looking at the bank where I had stood from the other side. Only imagine walking on the path that afforded a closer look at the waterfall upstream.
I thought about this for a really long time considering that the risk was laughably small except to me and the distance something a younger person could probably leap.
I finally lifted myself down from the rock and tiptoed to the two logs, one which immediately rolled. I decided that I would crawl across and not walk.
I stooped to all fours, managing the rocking log that was less troublesome than the image of a 60-year-old woman crawling across the creek on two logs.
I made it to the other side, pleased but more conscious of what constituted a physical risk for me at this point of my life than even five years earlier.
I don't know what I think about this. Other than for a minute I realized I hadn't thought about making it back across to the other side. I began the crawl back, anticipating the rocking log and the more cumbersome dismount off the logs onto the rock. But it happened without mishap.
The next morning before we left, I walked down to the creekside and took a photo of those two logs. I would post the photo here but I don't know how to do that yet. But I wanted a reminder of the moment and what presented itself as a risk to me.