I hear the whispers from the river of grass telling the sleeping manatee it's time to breathe, the flamingo it's time to switch feet and the crocodiles and alligators that though one's skin is lighter than the other there's no need for low self-esteem, prejudgment, or feelings of inadequacy and even if the latter's snout is round instead of thin they are invited into the harmony that exists between the red mangroves and the residents in its roots, the blades of saw grass that cut no creatures passing through and the frenzy of feathers and fauna that call this clash of habitats --- home.
This is the Everglades --land of the seminole and then the soldier, the colonies and the colonized , the live-ins and the passers-by all trying to do what the Everglades do so well -- live in a balance like an egg on end and if untouched would stay that way with not so much as a problem or conflict because the mud and leaves, mosquitoes and trees are a living picture of mucky perfection that we keep trying to suburbanize or gentrify into something that will generate profits when anything man-made will definitely be of lesser value.
The Everglades are out there but what if we could get a little of the everglades in here because the parrots and the blue jays certainly speak different languages, and frogs and toads come from different backgrounds, and the cattle egret and snowy egret are the same species but different ethnicities and all of them seem not just to survive but to thrive in a place where we don't look hard enough to see the life inside.
I hear the whisper of the river of grass telling Miami-dade to take a break and turn down Beyonce and little Wayne, take a trip to everglades and listen to the crickets and owls sing because we might find that our songs aren't music at all.
