Six Mile Creek

There’s a creek in Alaska called Sixmile Creek, where every summer, melting snow from the mountains feeds the rushing water, and the creek begins to swell and widen. As it does, it slowly starts to erode its banks. Trees that once stood tall and steady begin to shift. Some are pulled into the current.

But others ... they do something remarkable.

They begin to lean—away from the water, back toward the forest. You can see them growing at strange angles, their trunks tilted like they’ve lost their balance. Locals call them drunken trees. What looks like imbalance is actually a quiet act of survival.

Somehow, the tree knows the ground beneath it is no longer stable. It doesn’t fight. It no longer clings to the posture it once had.. It simply—silently—chooses to grow in a different direction.

That’s the part that gets me.

It knows. And it adapts.

No drama. No noise. Just this deep, wordless wisdom to keep growing, even when everything beneath it is shifting.

The tree has an inner knowing—some quiet instinct that senses the ground beneath it is no longer solid.

We have that, too.

You might not be able to name it at first, but you feel it. That quiet nudge? That’s your intuition.

And like the tree, you begin to shift. Maybe subtly. Maybe awkwardly. But you move.

Not all change is loud. Sometimes the most powerful growth begins with a quiet lean in a new direction.

"Drunken Tree" (left side of the photo) SixMile Creek Hope, AK