Warm mud seeps through
the crevices of my toes
as the crawfish dart and hide nervously
in response to my intrusion.
Everything seems to sense my presence.
The Spanish Moss sways-
passing on the warning of my invasion.
I wade further into the murky water,
silently watching,
my childish curiosity soothing the bayou.
Pouldou watch intently,
carefully floating closer as they accept my innocence.
The crawfish too return,
guarded by mazes of bayou leaves
and cypress knees,
and the moss lazily settles back
to hang contentedly from the low draping branches.
It is cool here.
Water oaks shade the swamps from
the sun’s harsh luminescence
And I am safe here.