The Storm

facing forward, I strained my eyes to the watery horizon for any signs of the compound off in the distance. Nothing.

The waterway now took a large jog to our left, and Henry maneuvered the boat skillfully through a narrow channel that was running a little faster, and I assumed deeper. Tall cypress trees on a small island to our left were casting shadows over the clear swamp water, as if their stretched-out hands were reaching out to the air, grass, and water. The wake of the boat left water ripples clear to the shoreline of the island and lapped upon the muddy beach where Whooping Cranes were feeding on shallow-water minnows. I had no visibility, as the grass hid everything from view, except for the deep, clear waterway directly ahead of us. We had made good time, but still no sight of the building.

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