When outsiders envision
live oaks here in the South, they usually picture large
on an old plantation; the stuff movies are made of (River
I doubt they would envision this! Imagine a graveyard where man
outlives the oaks (somewhere on
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
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