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Mud Flats

Crossing the mud flats of the bay daily, on 137, back and forth, back and forth, I see lives with choices and freedom. Birds free to take wing and float on a warm updraft, bask in the sun, wiggle in the mud, hunt for grubs in the grass, paddle around with the new ducklings, walk on water for awhile, fly in formation for the heck of it. Freedom in the twitch of every muscle, freedom in a wingtip hitting the water, while I trapped in modern bondage travel back and forth on 137.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2016




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Book: Shattered Sighs