Stage Island isn't an island at all. It's an earth-finger poking out into Plum Island Sound on the western side of the southern tip of the Parker River Wildlife Refuge. Fresh water plants like trees and scrubby shrubs grow right up to bluffs cut out by the tides' patient tooling. They live out their days in an interstitial and precarious place - right on the edge of where they shouldn't be at all.
Erosion from storms and tides moves the land and bends the trunks as the trees struggle to keep from laying down in the brackish tidal flats that surround them. Of course, it's a losing battle, as any resistance to change ends up being in the end.. Despite that - there is a feeling that one is witnessing a slow, quiet, kind of heroism as they cling to their lives, bending and growing extra root systems pointed away from the seawater - all to keep themselves upright... |
"Choose your leaders with wisdom and forethought. ~ Octavia E. Butler, Parable of the Talents ~ Wisdom and forethought... Well - aren't those two traits sorely lacking in the Empire? And so - here we are - hand-forging the iron links of our own oppression... The lot of us - poor, deluded pack of pussy grabbing, red-hat-wearing, grinning jackanapes. |
Got stuck up on Plum Island on Saturday while the Sea Queen caressed once-dry land with the hem of blue-green gown. She flooded the causeway and nobody got on or off the island until she got good and ready to let them.
People have asked me why I went there in the very first place, if I knew there was going to be a flood.. It's simple. That's where the juice was. It's called being alive. How many times do you get to witness the Sea casually reclaim territory or see waves break over two story houses, or people trying to ride bicycles in two feet of water? |
