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The mist rises inches above the water 
An angel of silence holds back her tears.
Cypress knees jerk
And the egret slides silently through the mist
The swamp is a sacred place. 
Inches of water hold a danger deeper than the depth of life
The primordial mud is deep here

My feet sink in deeper
I lean against an ancient monolith of a water oak, which is,
Standing next to a cypress tree that is older than anything I can fathom
The wood ducks whistle deep in the canopy
And I wait for their majestic colors to flash in the morning light
I am a hunter but I have not come to kill

I am here to take what nature gives
A turtle surfaces near me to catch a breath of air
And then sinks below the brown murky water
He hunts for the dead, the vulture of the swamp
He is hunted as well; a snack for a gator 
That may well be circling my feet as well

I care not for I am fearless of these creatures
I am an intruder and I am not on the menu
Carrying a weapon is only a weak means of security
For if they truly wanted me they would take me under
And introduce me to their world
However violent that introduction might be
I would never forget to remember that I am a guest here

Until then I will stand halfway in and halfway out of their world
Mystified by what the swamp as laid at my feet.
A flock of ducks circles my position looking for a place to lite
With one croak an old crow gives my position away
And the flock turns and heads further south
I curse the crow and he looks at me sardonically with one eye
And cries out  --- “If needed I’ll bring a murder of crows to keep you honest, old fool. “

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