Wetland ^new^ -

“Hold on,” Elias grunted, swinging the punt around. He reached down, hauling the boy over the gunwale. The child shivered, reeds clinging to his wet jeans.

The air thickened, heavy with the sweet-rot smell of peat and magnolia. Frogs thrummed a bass note, and a wood duck shrieked in the reeds. This wasn't a wasteland, as the developer’s proposal claimed. It was a library. Every ripple told a story; every water-stained leaf held a memory. wetland

He poled deeper, past the willow where the blue heron stood like a sentinel of bone and mist. He remembered his father’s hand on his shoulder, pointing to that same heron. “Watch, boy. A wetland provides. But only if you take the shape of a guest, not a king.” “Hold on,” Elias grunted, swinging the punt around

He poled back, not toward the landing, but toward a different shore. The high, dry ground where the survey stakes had been hammered in—orange plastic ribbons fluttering like obscene flowers. The air thickened, heavy with the sweet-rot smell

He helped the boy out. “Go home. Tell your dad you fell in a ditch.”

A splash startled him. Not a fish. A boot.