Crispy leaves everytime I’ve walked through here…
THe air was this brash-saltiness that could only stem where the brackish part of the river came to a clearing. Many peddlers and eco-conservationists. I took part in some semblances that were state-local worthy.
I remember it like every time I reach the clearing.
The Wild No-Mans Lands of the 3sq miles that’s only a quarter-mile in distance
But somehow 45 minutes away through-foot with someone that knew how to use
A machete, or rather a pocket-knife for our ages.
The vines were 6 inches thick.
There was another near my 3rd elementary school.
It seemed like the nicest one so far and the epicurean-tastes of extra-curricular
Extra-time before the walk-home play.
I’d done it 4 times already and always treated it new.
And I lost many of musical-listening-device and had my own floppy-purple headphones,
Save me from break on my tailbone
On willow, cypress tree bark –
That I treated like Philippines bark or even Indonesian Timber-Runs atop the bamboo piles.
And the greater-outskirts of the Great Swamp of North Carolina and all the likes of
Roanoke and Sir Walter Raleigh and the Tuscarora or Choctaw and the Yemmesee or Catawba in SC, where my dad’s family is from.
Somehow the cypress here isn’t quite fine or bark.
Just very strong stems,
To
Flowers.
To Get Back Home. [bonus-haiku.]
I can see why the Crab
like it so much, that Turtles
Follow the bunny.
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