John Casey - Spartina

He’d have to tell May he saw Elsie. He could do that, Elsie had managed him so he could do that.

Elsie’s forearm slid onto his feet, felt warm.

He’d get home as tuckered out as he’d been when he brought Spartina in after the hurricane. And on account of about as much foolishness on his part. When he’d got back that time he’d been able to tell May to be glad of Spartina ; he didn’t see what he was going to tell her to be glad of this time … Elsie gave me back? Better not go into it all.

He pulled the blanket up to his neck.

The sun would wake him through the sea-side window — enough time before Tran and Tony began to worry, enough time to fix the antenna and get back out to haul the rest of the pots, enough time to get home.

Now he lay down feeling he had enough. He closed his eyes and saw the marsh, the salt pond at high water, brimming up into the spartina. He felt his easy breath on his fingers. Enough time would flood and ebb in him, bringing in and carrying out.…

He opened his eyes. The log he’d laid had some salt in it — now it was aflame, there was a green sizzle to it, like the Northern Lights, like phosphorescence in the sea.

He closed his eyes again. It didn’t matter that he didn’t have more to want. It felt like part of his present that it was in him and in the nature of things for him to take in more, give out more before his breath ran out.

He could forget everything he’d thought here, this night, in the middle of his life. Let it ebb, and it would flow back. He felt like the salt marsh, the salt pond at high water, brimming.