The creek winds in a sinuous pattern so that I cannot see its beginning or end, the places where it trickles into the marsh or spills into the open ocean. Little brown birds dip in and out of the reeds on the far shore of the creek, making a special 'tweep-tweep' sound peculiar to the marsh...Sitting on the edge of the creek, I scoop some water into my hand, rub my face and neck, then ease into the water. Where the creek is shallow, my feet sink into a foot of muck that feels like mashed potatoes mixed with motor oil...I enjoy squishing the slimy mud through my toes. Marie Martinez.
Iron bars surround the creek; Marie washes her face in the creek; some soldiers look on indifferently.
Somewhat obscured by overhanging branches is a door to the east that leads to the Editors' Commentary.
You see a little brown bird here.
Part the reeds (#15238) leads to The Path (#15400) via {part the reeds, reeds}.
East (#15404) leads to The Editors' Commentary (#15239) via {east, e}.
little brown bird says, "[to mckinzie] tweep-tweep"