Somewhere on Jekyll Island, Georgia

by Randy Cyr


When outsiders envision live oaks here in the South, they usually picture large
spreading trees on an old plantation; the stuff movies are made of (River Road, Louisiana).

I doubt they would envision this! Imagine a graveyard where man outlives the oaks (somewhere on Jekyll Island, Ga).

This is probably what greeted the Lost Colony when they first stepped ashore in the New World; a thick tangled mess that deftly deflects high winds, while holding down the flooded beach during a storm.

But when tidal currents change, engrafted root masses that have long secured fragile beaches become exposed and loose their footing.

The pounding surf eventually separates these stalwart pillars from their ancient moorings, making a slow yet uncanny pilgrimage to the sea.   

Huge, bleached-white oaks tossed about a stark white beach seems otherworldly. But from death comes art; can you see the cackling flock of seagulls?

Or the reluctant hostage being dragged to the ocean?

This casualty appears to be crawling to get to the water.

In one last dying gasp, the fallen seems to drag itself to the sea.