A 5x7’ sheet of glass emerges from the swamp’s obsidian water, presenting itself and, through its transparent and reflective body, the swamp. 

When I began to live in New Orleans, the swap began to live in my mind. Here, it isn’t always obvious what is water and what is land. Gum trees piece out of the dark swamp water, sitting as still and dark as land. 

With one look the swamp imposes itself on its visitor —breathtaking. It renders the body as still and silent as itself, as is just looking. 

In such awe one look is like a thousand looks. Eyes search for any and all information to absorb in each glance more, more and more, reaching beyond what it can hold. 

It is the flooded forest floor, the every filtered light coming down through the trees and the moss portraying even the most subtle breeze. It levitates in air, weightless for a moment until it hangs low again. A gentle reminder of all below, wet and moist, of sinking and floating. Life in simultaneous life and decay.

Soul sinking into the thick swamp liquid, floats below the previous water lines visible on the fat bodies of gum and cypress trees.  Here at the swamp’s mercy, mind empty, eyes hungry, insatiable in wonder.