Last Kiss of the Swamp

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Few words exist to sufficiently describe the way the swamp smells at mid-day. To stand next to black water and experience the most oppressive heat imaginable is a paradox that twists the mind and causes one's knees to weaken so slowly it's almost imperceptible until the heat almost overcomes you. The odor is ancient. It emanates from eons past...from the junction of life and death passing each other constantly within the vicious circle of life that rules these waters and woods. The world knows not of the sins that are buried with the ones in the mire and muck of this place sacred to those who lived so long before us.

How many years had he been coming to this spot in this small clearing that was forever threatened by the outstretched arms of the trees to take back this small space of peace? He wasn't even the same person anymore...life saw to that. It seemed as if he had gone from a god of his youth to the half crippled goblin that was reflected in the still, dead water of the swamp. He had seen and experienced so much that was untold, yet these waters......these waters knew him as only he knew himself.

He looked down at the leathery, weathered hands that clutched the dull pocketwatch between them like a fleeting secret that must be kept. He didn't recognize these hands.....were these his? What had happened to him? Where did the time go? His eyes began to glisten at the memories of what had brought him to this junction in time and space. He breathed in and out in tempo with the olden rhythm of the swampland. A single tear made its way down and around the deep canyons of his face to rest perilously upon his chin and it danced ever so slightly as his lips quivered.

The knowledge of good and evil had passed this way so many days and nights throughout time. He knew he would never be better than this moment....that the pain would come again and touch his tortured soul. He could feel the impending descent of his body betraying him as all others had before. He slowly placed the watch back into the front pockets of his ragged and worn jeans and stepped into the warm, enveloping embrace of that swirling black water to finally know her eternal kiss.

All That Is Gold Does Not Glitter,
Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost
-Tolkien