Christian Point Trail

The River of Grass rolls, slow and steady,
life and death in perpetual flow.
Pines in rockland whisper secrets to the wind,
a rustling curtain veiling murky depths.
Devil Darter‘s wings, a warning to the wise,
perched on cypress knees, ancient, strong, and gnarled.

Shark Valley‘s stillness broken by a fin,
a silent hunter gliding through the reeds.
Gators bask, the patience of armor,
waiting for a careless egret’s slip.
Airboats slice through the shallow glade,
leaving trails that vanish… vanish and fade.

Flamingoes wade, a treat for the eye,
a vibrant contrast of muted hues.
Mangrove tunnels twist and bend, a labyrinth of arms,
for hiding, sheltered by the tangled roots.
Ten Thousand Islands stretch and fade,
a watery maze where sea and land collide.

At Christian Point the skeets do swarm,
the muddy bog, a perilous hike,
proceed with caution, and leave at sundown,
the tangle is alive, its hunger burns.

Marjorie’s voice, conscience of the glades,
champion of the wild, fragile beauty.
She spake the value of endless green,
the interconnectedness of countless lives.
Her words, a call to protect this place,
a plea for balance in a ravenous space.

Remember remember, the lessons of the wild,
the delicate balance that’s easily disturbed.
Remember remember, our schoolyard sorrow,
the shattered peace, the pain of tomorrow.
Protect this wilderness, protect these children,
till silence swallows both… in a rolling river of grass.