Church like peace descending down through the canopy making our chatter falter as the hush reaches us.
We pause and listen to the distant drum, hollow skinned and far reaching. A pileated woodpecker drops through the canopy onto a silvered trunk. Anvil shaped against the bark and big. Black wings flicking against the tree. It is a primal dweller of the woods in this prehistoric world of coffee trees and poison ivy.
Big mouth fish slap their tails in dark pitted pools. Lichens and bryophytes drip from the trees, strangler figs wrap clawed hands in a death embrace around the cyprus trees. The world hisses and sings with insect noise as it did in a swampy past. Above us the air explodes as grackles come off the swamp to roost in the trees. Their calls see-saw overhead but Pete and I walk in reverence, along the boardwalk to a pond where wood storks preen and herons fish.
We have walked into the past and two mourning doves watch us depart.