By Kaylie Whitley

The old screen door snaps shut in the bayou
while outside nature thrives.

Cicadas buzz like white noise
that lulls wakeful babies to sleep.
Mosquitos ski on murky waters
flowing through the stream.
Spanish moss hangs low.
It reaches down;
an outstretched hand
from the branches of bald cypress trees.
Drips of rain leave ripples in the water.
Wind rushes through leaves that shiver
like coatless children
on the first day of autumn.
Skyscraping trees creak and shake
As the leaves crinkle and bend.

The bayou is alive.

A bumpy bullfrog croaks from a lily pad,

to join an orchestra of chirping crickets.
The dusty blue feathers of a heron
stretch wide as wings flap to a stop.
The heron rests
like a mother at the end of a hard day.
Tadpoles dart to feast on algae
then burrow in the mud
as the brutal summer sun blazes down
on Louisiana.
Beads of sweat collect on my forehead.
Soft skin roasts in the heat.

The old screen door snaps shut
in the Bayou,
but it’s still and quiet inside.

---

Needs a bio