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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 © | Year Posted 2006




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Date: 1/11/2012 6:59:00 AM
I have enjoyed reading your poetry today April. I wish you the best in the New Year in your writing endeavors whatever they may be. Love, Carol
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