Suwannee River Meltdown

I knew I would find my place before I even looked for it.

I did not find my place in a tiled roof tract house near the Atlantic in the hoo-rah in the south of the South.

I did not find my place in a pine-framed homestead in the Glades or the breathless, inland prairies north of it.

I did not find my place in a weathered beach house where the endless hurricanes churn through the Gulf and turn the Panhandle sand into talcum.

I did not find my place in a concrete palace among the coastal cities that have not aged gracefully.

The Suwannee is a soulful, gentle, mannerly river.

It frees me from the feeling of being land-locked in my forever place.

Here I found my sanctuary,

Cloistered and quiet in the pines and oaks along the waterway,

While I wait for the buzzards to circle.