Sometimes we come to a place to think and when we arrive we cannot. All there is to do is watch - wait, watch, and be silent.
I came to see the sun rise from the marsh. Tide is low. Best time of day to fish. The raccoon knows - emerging from a canyon in the Spartina, it waddles noisily out to the edge of Christmas Creek. As it approaches the water's lip, its spindly joints plunge into dark mud with deep sucking sounds, like a congested frog trying to croak. With muddy paws it combs the shallows for nibblins, finds nothing, and decides to swim across the creek to an oyster bed.