There is a richness to the landscape in an estuary. In a very short walk one observes tributaries of every scale. There are rivers, streams, brooks, and small rivulets of flowing water. It is a place where the lines between land, freshwater, and the sea become enmeshed.
The grassy marsh crunches underfoot, and one has to tread carefully to keep their feet dry; water is moving everywhere. I did, anyway. On this day my kids did what kids do best, hopping from spot to spot as if they’d lived their whole lives there, and building bridges with logs like they were planning to live the rest of them there too.
