Day at the Wetlands

Dream of Water

The wetlands we visited showed no signs of water,

except for the gourds that I picked up.

Round yellow spheres,

like the bright winter sun that hung above the horizon.

Tiny, fragile microcosms filled with stringy fibers and seeds,

floating in a sea of dry grass.

The sides of the gourds that kissed the ground,

were damp, soft and yielding,

when I gently pressed their shells.

You told me stories about grey manatees,

and I dreamed of water,

in that place of barren beauty.

Empty, dry, desiccated and brittle,

Where everything crunched as we walked.

Yet,

I could hear myself think.

I was outside of the fray.

 

photos and prose by Lorraine E. Leslie  2014