Glories, Stories, and Nature Worries

Fresh cut grass laced with dew adheres to the top of my navy sneakers Only the mornings touch invites the purple glories to open their lavender lashes, pupils of white gold. Never has school's beginning been so inviting A crisp waft of salty air reminds the land that the oceans near Cold enough to raise the hair but fresh enough to tolerate Even now these mornings bring nostalgia Ripples flee from our canoe and dissipate before reaching the targeted shore "Fishy, Fishy, in the brooke come and bite on my big hook" But not even charms can cast my line to the scaled phantom, whose shadow I swear I saw, teasing me to become entangled. Indian feet remain in the clay, telling the story of natures keepers Shark teeth are out of place now, but remind me that this land was once the Ocean's Soon to be the City's