The shore is cabbage green and reeks. Reclaimed swamp sprouts citrus and tamarisk, manna to the ancients who were starved for miracles. Now a paper mill and Alliance Tires spill their secrets further out to sea. Along the roadside, two Arab boys drag a gull by the wings and beyond a horse belly-up in the field. A glider dips over us, silent, and gleams as it turns. We should stop but drive on.