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The Marsh Piper of Reedhollow surfaced from the still water on a morning wrapped in green light, built from a bough softened by the tide and a bottle clouded like river glass. Speckled eggs rest in the moss of his crown, and a small shell-eyed bird nests at his shoulder, keeping him company through the long quiet hours. His round mouth is forever caught mid-note—an O of soft surprise, as if he's just remembered a song from very far away. Trailing roots dangle like the reeds he calls home. He is the whistler of wetlands, reminding us that wonder is a tune worth carrying, hummed low for anyone still willing to listen.
The Marsh Piper of Reedhollow surfaced from the still water on a morning wrapped in green light, built from a bough softened by the tide and a bottle clouded like river glass. Speckled eggs rest in the moss of his crown, and a small shell-eyed bird nests at his shoulder, keeping him company through the long quiet hours. His round mouth is forever caught mid-note—an O of soft surprise, as if he's just remembered a song from very far away. Trailing roots dangle like the reeds he calls home. He is the whistler of wetlands, reminding us that wonder is a tune worth carrying, hummed low for anyone still willing to listen.