See if you can guess the author.
You'd kind of have to really be into poetry to know it, though.
Oh well.  Give it a shot anyways.
*BANG*

"I went to the woods to live deliberately.
Or, more aptly, the creek,
And I had no idea what drew me down there, but it was not deliberate.
Except I was in a rotten mood, and slipping into past behaviours
Which normal people do not consider healthy.
I had to get out.
The sun was hot, and assaulted my face directly,
And I jokingly cursed the light to myself.
Getting to the actual water required shimmying under a barbed-wire fence,
Which had been there for time immemorial,
Or at least since I was three.
Once on the pocky rock shelves which shored the banks of the stream
I sat on the highest edge I could find,
And extended my feet into the water.
I had not expected such frosty water in the middle of April,
But what could I do? As such,
It became my dance to withstand the icy rush on my toes,
And bit by bit my feet were acclimated.
I bent double, and examined the sediment swirling around my toes.
How long had it taken the dirt to get there? I wondered.
And what mountain was this grain once part of?
I combed my fingers through the forest on the riverbed,
And imagined myself much akin to Godzilla.
Who knew what aquatic Tokyo I was terrorising?
I rolled my corduroys up, and walked, and sank into rolling underwater dunes of
shale
And pebbles
And shells
And found a calm spot
Where I skipped a stone solidly across quivering waters.
I went further downstream, and slipped awkwardly,
Imbalanced in body as apparently in mind.
I found my footing on long, ropy green hairs padding the bottom, but soon abandoned it for unexplored terrain across the stream
Beneath a high mudden wall veined and scaffolded in a million roots.
I bent over and slipped my fingers, godlike, through the water and into an aquatic world far different from my own.
I took a rock – it could have been a life – in my hands, and drew it from its brethren.
Folded it across my fingers.
Then let it slide back into the water.
I took other rocks, and they all fell further downstream,
And I marvelled that the more and more often you let something go,
The farther and farther away it slipped from you each time.
This time I took a fingerful of silt, and exposed it
To the air,
And rubbed it between my fingertips, watched the brown dredge across my palm
In a small, potent smudge,
Then returned my hands to the water and let each tiny grain sweep, fly,
Slide away on the watery breeze like on a wind.
I took another rock.
And threw it.
And watch the ripples of my actions come back to me
As they always do, and always will.
I trudged thoughtfully into the middle of the stream,
Away from the shade and the easy grappling hooks of the roots and the riverwall
Into sunlit waters.
And all at once the sun ran in waving bands
Contrary to the way it should by right in water,
And the world bended, pressed upon me as blood pounded in my ears
And my heart simultaneously ceased pumping
And my eyes were trapped
By the sun
In the water
By the sky falling in a sheet upon me
And pressing me down into the water and the light and bearing me up
And out
And filling me with an oscillating pressure.
My head jerked up, and it was gone,
Over,
Like a snap,
Or someone getting caught,
And there was only me standing knee-deep in a water,
And all was calm.
A singing river.
I breathed the words, tasting them in my mind.
A butterfly appeared, hovered above me in a still
Flight, wondering if maybe it had worked.
And once more I turned upstream and began to walk,
And marvelled at how much difficult something is to return to
Once you’ve walked away from it.
And struck a perfect balance on a teetering rock,
And as I walked home on the painted road
I felt like one newly-placed on earth
And just learning to walk.
No sense was too minute for it to register.
I felt the occasion called for a memento of sorts,
A tribute to this altering experience.
No, they said, your memento is yourself.
And everything was different.
But nothing had changed.
On an ordinary day in April."