A Late Tatter of Eden
Will Inman
After sustained hard rains, Burnt Mill
Creek
swelled over its dark banks, sometimes
washed out
the bridge along Colonial Drive to Forest
Hills
Elementary School.
Early on, I
observed
the difference between nature’s rage
and natural
serenity.
Creekwaters ran serene most seasons.
bottomsand shone golden under Elodea
and Vallisneria. Striped Dace and fat female
Gambusias escorted
the smaller males, the eldest
gone black and white — all swam
sheer in open
currents. I
never tried wading or
swimming
during high water, but I waded often or
swam
naked in a deeper bowl, white sand under
flashes
of sun through tall cypress green.
Cardinal flowers
bloomed creek-edge, hummingbirds sucked
the dark
reds. My toes went mussels tunneling
brief in
sand or mud. Brown snails seemed
neither deceived
nor amused.
Delgado mill-boys,
come to bathe,
saw me as an alien snob from an enemy
class. I was
too afraid to view them as potential
allies.
Still,
I persisted. God spoke in languages
of vines
scraping high in trees. Zebra
swallowtails flew
magic down green ways. A slim
greensnake mocked
Eden.
