The early spring swamp pulls me in like one possessed. The rotting leaves and spongy soil are held together with a mesh of roots. I step carefully, but the cold water seeps up with the weight of my footstep and soaks my feet. I went in not wanting to get wet. Now I am soaked.
I point my camera at the rivulets of spring melt collecting in tiny streams. I snap a picture of the blue sky peering up at me from the black.
Points of young green skunk cabbage rise up, shockingly green against the winter earth tones. They point skyward, vulgar and glistening.
I kneel down and taste the leaves that burn my mouth. Swamp water soaks my knees.
I fall in love
lay down in the water
inhale the sweet and the rot
goes down with me