Tropical Depresion 12
I can recall that night,
so vividly, still...
The salty ocean air on the
tip of my tongue
as Atlantic winds blew her
ever closer to me;
and her scent-
a blend of seaweed and sand,
it whispered secrets to me
(so vile)
I dare not speak them aloud,
as I stood there,
perched on weathered wood,
gazing out to where sands
meet swamp and
give birth to my city;
Oh, the wretched beauty!
The glory of a home
only seen under
pressure of pending doom...
I knew, then,
that I would never stand again,
on those hallowed, hoodoo
shores of silt to see:
the forests that sprang forth from brackage,
the rainbow rays as the sun slipped away,
or the fishes that flowered
in the cypress...
Authors Note:
In the cypress forests in the swamps, fish feed on the tiny bugs that float on top
of the water. In the spring, there is an abundance of these bugs and as a result
you can see hundreds of fish jumping up out of the water in a feeding frenzy at
dusk. The way they jump up and splash back into the water reminded me of
flowers blooming.
Copyright © April Dobson | Year Posted 2006
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