EELGRASS

In the Meadows River, the sound of an outboard motor. The boat carves through the channels, little islands, some no more than shoals, poke from the water. Coming up is Monkey Island. They chatter in the pine and how they like to swing and throw mussel shells. The shallows are a field of eelgrass. The motor stops. The hush as the hull rushes over the weeds and skates up the stones onto land.