They aren't what you think, they aren't green or gray looking, it's the same as the first time you looked out a car window and scanned the lush marshes for birdlife, you are studied, whether it be the cruel nightfall killing frenzy or the soft, morning sun, if there's violence it's like a few ducks and dead otters in the road, the salted air is typically cool on the skin out here among the cluster of small, perfectly ovoid islands, a gushing red mist and burnt bronze haze, a mosaic of spiderweb branches overhead, I like when the sun dances off the water.