In The Marshes

My walk takes me to the marshes I traveled in my youth. In heavy boots, I cross a stream, swatting snow covered branches from my path.

I navigate the tidal pools here at the ebb tide, the strong smell of the wetlands in my nostrils.

The storm is passing, clouds scudding across the sky as the freshening breeze from Narragansett Bay carries them East.

I pull the phone from my pocket, composing quickly.

I press the release button, three or four frames. It’s enough. I was here today on a cold winter afternoon.