Ocean Springs Harbor

I couldn't resist this glimpse of the harbor below an especially striking sky. It was the sky I was drawn to, but I like the nestled shrimp boats and the modest sign. This harbor is cradled on the left by the Anderson compound where I lived and played as a child. A path strewn with broken pottery shards led through the marsh to my uncle Peter's boat. He was the potter of Shearwater Pottery, but he built his shrimp boat and also pirogues for the children of the family to paddle around in. 

I did my share of paddling, along with siblings and cousins. We were free to be brave and adventurous, and navigated the harbor and the inlets that wound through the lush expanse of marsh. The marsh grew high, concealing the happy explorers. It felt like another world, where grown-ups never went. A secret haven where grown-up rules did not apply.

I just went there, just became my straight-backed child-self, guiding the small boat through the green-gold summer air of yesteryear. Writing is like that, capable of collapsing the years. How sweet to be child and elder simultaneously! To follow the thread that takes me there...