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.