At the Edge
Yellow eyes at the surface.
Its scales warm as the sun travels overhead. Light filters through canopy, settling behind the oaks. Their leaves catch the last of the day’s rays.
On the hill, lights flicker. Figures emerge. Voices travel across the water, seeping into stillness. Metal clinks.
Something white limps down to the shore, nose up, sniffing the air. He pauses at the edge, then bends towards the water, lapping with his tongue.
The water ripples. Closer.
“Percy!”
He startles, barking at nothing, then retreats up the hill.
The water stills, watching as it disappears.
Down into the cold and dark, stirring up dust. Its frame pressed deep into the sediment—
still holding.
The (presumably) gator 🐊 feels like part of the landscape, one with the water, a thing that belongs to the world and the dog feels like the innocent visitor whose family keeps safe from the dangers, the reality, of nature. We lucky ones don’t know how close we are to being chomped on. Same tbh. I could be wrong. Brb rereading