Odom Sam: Where I Am From
Kyler Hall: Nature Has Moodswings Too

Reid Shilling: The Bay

The place of my summer life,
bringing happiness at every touch.
A special place where I was raised
to maturity.

Ah, the bay.

The soft seagulls facing the wind,
scanning the water for a snack.
The masts of sailboats clinking,
as the halyards slap against the hard metal.
Groups of fish launching out of the water,
“bluefish blitz,” the fisherman yell.
As I walk along the berm, there are
a multitude of crabs waddling along the pilings.
The constant hum of motorboats in the distance,
fishing, tubing, waterskiing.
I hear chatter from every direction,
people on bikes, in the water, or on the beach.
Last but not least: the air,
satisfying as the wind brushes lightly against my pale cheek.

But the bay has it’s own secrets.
These memories I hold tight.
Only when I am reunited with the bay,
will these come back to life.

Salty water and bay rot
It smells like a fragrance foreign to everyone,
but not me.
As I take a dip in the lukewarm water,
I find the water has a taste similar to a saltine,
but I have come accustomed to this,
nectar from the gods.
As I dig a little deeper in my glory hole of memories,
I find fish, crabs, eels, and even the occasional horseshoe crab.

It is a whole other universe.

As I step of our boat on the last day of summer,
I recount all of these moments in my head.
I leave with one last dip in the water.
As I drop my toes into the largest pond in the world,
I realize it will be 9 months until we meet again.

I picture the bay one more time,
and prepare for it to be lost,
but not forgotten.

Ah, the bay.

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