In The Rachel Carson Wildlife Refuge, Thinking of Rachel Carson

34 Anthony Walton The elements raveling and unraveling: ground water misting into rain, falling back into ground water; salt water wash through brackish fresh water bordering sea; we two wandering in late March along the upland, among evergreens and bare deciduous and bushes held fast by the last of the snow, the rush and bubble of the tidal river winding through low tide, salt hay, cord and spike grass, walking the path between firm ground and marsh. The first time down the path leads to enlightenment, the second, to wonder; the third finds us silent, listening to the few gulls lift and caw as we watch the wind, which makes itself known in the sea grass and as it dimples the water, skimming like sunlight until a Coast Guard chopper drowns for a moment the drone of cars and trucks in the distance. In The Rachel Carson Wildlife Refuge, Thinking of Rachel Carson ...