Marsh is not swamp. Marsh is a space of light, where grass grows inwater, and water flows into the sky. Slow-moving creeks wander, carrying the orb of the sun with them to the sea, and long-legged birds liftwith unexpected grace—as though not built to fly—against the roar of athousand snow geese. - P3
Kya was the youngest of five, the others much older, though latershe couldn‘t recall their ages. They lived with Ma and Pa, squeezedtogether like penned rabbits, in the rough-cut shack, its screened porchstaring big-eyed from under the oaks. - P6
THE SHACK SAT BACK from the palmettos, which sprawled acrosssand flats to a necklace of green lagoons and, in the distance, all themarsh beyond. Miles of blade-grass so tough it grew in salt water, interrupted only by trees so bent they wore the shape of the wind. Oakforests bunched around the other sides of the shack and sheltered theclosest lagoon, its surface so rich in life it churned. Salt air and gull-songdrifted through the trees from the sea. - P7
Kya couldn‘t eat. She sat on the porch steps, looking down the lane.
Tall for her age, bone skinny, she had deep-tanned skin and straighthair, black and thick as crow wings. - P9
Next to the Piggly was the Dog-Gone Beer Hall, which of-fered roasted hot dogs, red-hot chili, and fried shrimp served in foldedpaper boats. No ladies or children stepped inside because it wasn‘t con-sidered proper, but a take-out window had been cut out of the wall sothey could order hot dogs and Nehi cola from the street. Coloredscouldn‘t use the door or the window. - P17
Crying and screeching, the birds swirled and dived, hovered nearher face, and landed as she tossed grits to them. Finally, they quietedand stood about preening, and she sat on the sand, her legs folded tothe side. One large gull settled onto the sand near Kya.
"It‘s my birthday," she told the bird. - P21
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