The Capital Letter

I like to write my thoughts as they come to mind, but today I had a place to be due to an astronomical schedule that must be kept.  I couldn't see the stars or the moon or the sun for that matter.  But, the effects were present, the tide was dropping, the current growing.  So, I left the East and raced up the mighty Neck, and veered off fighting my way into the one inch standing waves of Bailey Creek until I entered the Sneak, now so often described in this journal that it has attained a capital letter, and I descended that, a quirk of tides in marshlands, and re-entered the East.

the Sneak

It all goes well with little to note other than the replacement of ospreys and willets with herring gulls and yellow-legs.  At the first bridge, the picket fence of a deer's ribcage appears in the salt hay along with a bleached scapula and a still furred leg - hit by a car, hit by a train, or hit by a disease...to early to have been hit by a hunter.  No telling where it came from, the back and forth washing of the tide ruins the logic.  It's here, for the time being.

A few kingfishers, a great blue heron, some fish jumping, a few turtle heads, one great egret, the wind blows cool, the clouds come over.

I stop at the broken stone dam that hides behind the cattails up against the forest.

And then, I return....washed...  not clean, but washed.