The wonder is that magic places still exist
just across the way, around the corner, beyond the seawall. Some are blind -
seeing mud a spartan and sticky gloom - a hostile landscape of salt and sea,
wild marsh and lonely prairie. But those that know - they return every year to
wallow in the song of ducks, to smell the sea winds on the great flats, to wade
the tide-lines with shank; tread the vast sandbanks in solitude, and to witness
the melody of a new dawn and smile - invigorated by all that glitters -
sleeping sound at the day's magical end... Tony
1 comment:
You are continuing a great tradition - Maurice Griffiths called it "The Magic of The Swatchways" in his book of the same name.
Post a Comment