A dulling gold plain split into many pieces by the high tide water. The water flows steadily, a rather small motion that breaks the illusion of stagnant salty ice.
the concrete bridge stands like a gravestone; marking the time of old, and barely intact to see the present hour.
The unfiltered sun shines ever so brightly, as if a golden amber blanket is lain caringly upon this dead winter marsh,
giving it light, giving it life.
that bridge is kinda old... I honestly hope it doesn't collapse soon I think it says 1919 on it. I never noticed how beautiful this marsh was until today.