20 minutes by bike to my haven |
When the sun beckoned, I hit the road on a 10 speed bike bound for a park with sandy shores. Waded 'round the mangroves to find a swampy trail, and off I trod to the barnacles' haven. I deposited my taunts at empty barbecues where the kids' cries of "You nerd you!" would cook away while I strode along the trail. Along the way, I tiptoed toward the danger of crabs, spiders and shady-faced strangers wanting to wreck my journey to the barnacle lands. "Shoo!" I'd hiss in my silent whispers. Plodding down the trail, I climbed over fallen Aussie pines bound to kiss their rash on me. I'd take the risk to reach the shelled leechers. As I pawed through webs and mangrove leaves, I abandoned the drama invading my school days; why did they envy my academic prowess? Finding an embraced shoreline, I stopped and grabbed a mangrove seed pod long and green. When no one else was looking, I wrote out my plea: "Take these worries and wash them away with the tides." I scrawled the latest pairings destined to fail in the sugar sands where they could be flushed out of me. My wishes and fears stayed in those enclosed shores, and I tossed the pod into the waters. Then I reached my tree rife with white cones-my barnacles! Latched on exposed roots of an Aussie pine, I risked the red, itchy snake slithering up my arms to grab the tiny crustaceans in my barnacle harvest. With care, I slid them off the dry root and into my hand to be dumped in my stashed Ziploc baggie-just in time for show and tell! I already heard the chants of "Suck up! Suck up!" from my classmates' mouths, but I knew I could return to these lapping waters and shaded sands. Until then, I had to go home. |