Got Cygnet?

If you’re new around here, I live in a swamp.

If you live in an apartment in a city, you might have a fanciful idea of a swamp. You’ll donate money to save it, if all someone does is call it a “wetland.”

You’ll be told, early and often, that it’s a delicate thing, this swa… um, I mean wetland. It really isn’t. It’s a ferocious thing.

It cold and rainy here, like it often is in the Spring. The trees don’t even have leaves on them yet. The fiddleheads are barely popped.

But let me assure you, the swamp is already on the verge of being impenetrable. Bugs, beasts, brambles, water; ticks in their legions bursting with borreliosis. The beasts come out of it every night and ravage everything that grows. When you fall down, you’re pulled to pieces in no time.

I hate the Disney ideal of a delicate thing filled with fronds. It’s a mindless beast. It’s better to respect the power of it. I do. It almost took my life once. Sometimes, like yesterday, it shows me a little leg for all the trouble it causes.

I’m not sure if it’s enough. But it’s something, ain’t it?