Don't Fall In
Mud sucked my boots, making a pluck sound behind each step. Most of the water had long gone and small, scattered pools remained the only testament to a once thriving swamp.
I veered to avoid a gator too stubborn to leave the drought, its body buried in cracked mud, head semi-covered. It looked like a painter's bas relief plastered to grey black canvas. Can't live too much longer like that I thought, and stepped up to higher ground where a snake slithered into drooping green pickerelweed.
By June mosquitoes should have swarmed each cubic inch of breathable air, but when it was this dry, even they couldn't survive. I took a long breath, unbuttoned the chest part of my shirt, wiped sweat from my face, enjoyed the warmed freshness of nature. "Smells clean." A bird whistled from a cypress tree. I looked up, trailed a long streamer of beige white Spanish moss to a bright red cardinal. Hey boy, hold it right there. I lifted my camera and the auto focus grabbed him.
Gnarled cypress roots glared, angry at their nakedness I supposed. Tough on them, too. Normally they'd be covered in water with only knees showing. Wonder what would happen if I dumped my bottled water on them? Would they want to move if I dumped it next to, but not on? I laughed. Trees don't think.
Soon cypress gave way to pine that towered green as in the rainy season.
Ahead I saw an opening where harsh blue sky beat a path to earth, and knowing I'd arrived at the gator hole, I slowed. Don had warned me. "Take it easy there," he said. "Don't fall in."
I set down the gear and pulled out shirttails. Hot, man it's hot. Gators or no gators I need some cool water, at least up to my ankles. The effort of picking up the gear reinforced my need to cool down and as I shouldered the pack and tripod I inched to the pond's edge, noticed fifteen foot grey white walls that dropped straight into the water below. Ponds weren't supposed to be that deep.
Heat waves danced above a white, limestone apron pockmarked from years of weather, and studying it, wondering how many years, I almost missed the young, tan colored deer that teetered on the edge across the pond.
I looked down, scanned the walls for a break, a place where if it fell in it might get out. Nothing. Just two long snoots sticking out of the water. I reached, yelled at the deer. No. Get away, I said and it dropped, legs kicking air.
A tidal wave rose to meet the bawling animal and from it two enormous alligators lunged and twisted, snapped, and crashed back into the now pink pond. My heart pounded, I felt it beat against ribs as I remembered Don's words.
I studied the ground making sure that when I backed away I didn't trip.
Wayne Willison.