Unfulfilling Loss
A personal survival guide
Arrived at the bird observatory. Deformed tree trunks with drops of previous rain residue, a parched throats delight, with Tiger Swallowtail butterflies pestering radiant white flowers. Tiger Swallowtail butterflies hover near a water source and devour nectar off flowers from an array of plants such as butterfly bush, milkweed, Japanese honeysuckle, phlox, lilac, blackberry, ironweed and wild cherry.
Seek the butterflies.
Glance for savory bonbon flowers.
Humid murky swamp with swiveling lanky grass. Inconspicuous alligators move tenderly alongside floating tree trucks, cloaked within the habitat. Trees, leaves and critters vibrate through the wind. A spider near the tall grass distracts my path. Ant piles submerge my feet, an intensified scorch pleading for alleviation.
Smear aloe vera and lavender.
A natural anti-inflammatory.
Forgive the irritation.
Shells cracking each step closer approaching the bay’s edge, unreliable kayak, venturing offshore for the thrill. Only a vast ocean ahead of us, everyone seems to master the strokes of the paddle against the tides. The sound of waves assault the front of the kayak as it attempts to battle the wind.
Unfulfilling loss.
Sweeping backwards as our arms begin to lose strength. Fish jump near us, mocking the distress in our faces as we stroke for an extra inch closer to the last stop.
Siphon lukewarm water.
Submerge tube under water.
Place finger over end of tube.
Lift plugged end over empty container.
Unplug the tube for water flow.
Sweep the sea salt adhered to the
trims of your feet.
Unstick the pebble gems from your sandals.
Navigating nervously near the pier, waiting for the next venture out to sea. The smothering heat empowers the sweat of my shirt. Unempathetic seagulls nuke near the edge. One step closer for a gliding jellyfish greeting. A canvas of energized sun forces a tone transformation upon our salty sweaty skin.
Sailed out to Aransas Bay.
The wind and the sun evenly kiss the tones of my skin. Pelicans gather together in small patches of empty dehydrated grass bound by sea, just resting there. Brown pelicans do not store fish in their pouch, but simply use it to catch them and then tip it back to drain out water and swallow the fish immediately.
The waves are energetic, they sway the boat enough to unbalance each weight. Lean against the boat while splashes of winds calm the soil.
Knots warp my carcass.
Swimming without limbs.
Floating waste.
Drowning waterless.
Scooped up by a pouch.
Ship bells echoes at a distance. Verbatim sharp dings. Scraping of wood and aluminum characterize the low frequency sounds. We returned to the pier. Gasping for the last breath of air. The serene marina adjusted my rationality.
Avoid the sun.
