Satartia - Clear Lake Camp - 1967

A gray wooden skiff is moored in ink black water, water as dark as the midnight sky miles from town. Floating autumn leaves, and green gold duckweed move along the surface like a liquid forest in a quiet breeze. Moving in stillness, the water inches its way past a rustic cabin. Odors of leaves, fish, and stove smoke breathe life to the cool clean air. Game taste, evening, and a toast to friendship, bring a sleep like peacefulness as forest animals find their beds. Oak, tupelo and cypress pillars sweep skyward from land and swamp, and diffuse into a pediment of green and bronze and indigo. The setting sun glows red hot steel across the waters of the slough and mirrors all. I see myself there still, sitting solemn and silent, a part of it.