We're waiting for the light to fade down even more.
Not the magic hour,
but proper dark.
Frank comes down with Maw Maw.
He steps onto the deadwood platform
and tells a story about a water moccasin.
He adjusts the pic in his
magnificent
afro.
"That boy walked on water," he says.
The frogs begin to sing.
Fish jump. A crane...
The cypress ghosts begin to speak.
And, now, I can smell the swamp.
I can smell the oil.
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