A meditation on wild Florida.
Where silence isn't absence, but presence.
Comment below.
🌿⤵️
Hidden wrens flit among
twisted mangrove roots,
then burst forth;
wing tips skimming
silver crests of water.
Tidal mazes
carve mandala shapes
through clay, sand
and breezy sea oat.
Abundant quietude
masks death in bloom.
Deer ticks,
redback spiders, coral snakes,
stone fish drift like junk boats
masts of venom raised.
The sun breathes
tangerine behind my lids.
Light seeps in
where grief sat heavy.
In Everglades City, fan boats,
bait shops, F-150s, Carhartt jeans, ball caps.
A brown pelican dives-bombs the bay,
then soars upward again,
as a Silverfish tail squirms
about its beak.
A sign before a steepled church says
"Everyone welcome except for gators."
Another road, always the same.
Now we are in Chokoloskee,
ancient archipelago isle
where barefoot children motor ATVs
at freedom's foreboding edge.
I park near a Cuban cafe,
inside, above the tikki bar,
a surprising welcome;
a Pride flag, next to a Marine Corps flag.
The waitress is out of key lime pie,
but her mom has some;
just knock on her trailer.
It's two doors down.
After pie, elation gathers.
Nothing sparks a beginning
like the end in sight.
And there it is -
An old meeting house,
a ranch on stilts,
made of white clapboard,
spotted with mold.
Around it,
sawgrass,
dusky marsh,
and a lone fanboat that lilts,
silhouetted
by a massive sun,
fading quickly
into twilight's saffron.
A mosquito roars in the
hollow of my ear.
On the back porch,
a wiry, old timer
baits a hook with shaky hands
a splotch of white on his nose.
He nods to me, a stranger.
It seems fitting
he is the last man
on the last inch
of this America,
where the one road highway
and civilisation
ends,
and the Everglades,
in earnest,
begin.
Let me know if this place calls to you, too. 🌾
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