At dawn, the wetlands are dry as a bone, still as the grave. Hardly a bird sings, too early now for the cicadas. It is overcast with white clouds, windless, airless without a leaf stirring, already 70 degrees.
All of the worshipers at the Emanual Church have been laid to rest. The Confederate battle flag has been taken down from the statehouse grounds. The people sang: Na, na, na na...Na na na naaaa...goodbye.
All across the drying wetlands, swamp flowers are in glorious bloom. Giant white blossoms, deep dark red at the base of the stamens.
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