Teen Ink

   Air tasting like salt.

The rising odors of atrocious smelling mud.

The marsh stretches onward toward the sea.

The light brown grass is as sharp as knives.

The sand runs through my hands like sugar

Crystals.

The air is thick,

And settles like a blanket on the marsh.

Hidden among the grass lie crickets,

Chirping their beautiful song.

Birds tweet high above,

Their song echoing all around.

The marsh seems so desolate, so deserted.

And yet I am not alone.