Sunday, September 27, 2009
The Marsh at Storm - Lin Frye
This so reminds me of the years I spent in Charleston, SC.
Though we lived within walking distance of the ocean, I preferred the quieter, inland waterway side to the island - lapping water instead of crashing waves. The pluff mud and dark waters heralded the marsh to be the incubator for so much estuarine wildlife. The smell - distasteful to so many - became part of our expectations living close to it, and after a while not unpleasant in the least. This time of year, the marsh grasses slowly lost their emerald colors and unless one watched closely, it was easy to miss the subtle changes of green to tawny brown. I can still hear in my mind's ear the call of red-winged blackbirds, the croak of frogs, the plop of turtles, splash of fish, and smell that scent of salt ....
Fall - different from the countrysides of yellows and golds, ochres and russets - but charming and mysterious and filled with as much glory ...