Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Swamp Rascal

Mike crept through the high grasses and foam of dry salt cedar sheddings. Even the brutalest foul prongs of Nature seemed fair, while with man one wanted Payback. He kicked at beer cans and charred camp drudge. No surfers here. They hung out in the sand and looked out at the sand these kids. Surfing the tailgates on their pickups. Corncob bonfire shindigs after dark. This all would be flooded soon. Just big dragonflies and crocs. Bubbling mudtowers.

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