Swan Quarter

Bad dust and mists intermingle at the fault line that is Swan Quarter between what was, what is, and is to come...

A mist that creeps into the night,

Winds suddenly rising and then so briefly howling,

Though ever moaning,

With gusts of salty air.

Gulp the water, the salty water,

There was once an ocean here.

Imagine the ships that are moving,

Many with sails,

And then with iron.

Feel the sway of the ocean waves,

Rocking back and forth,

See lightning, hear thunder, as a brief storm is now brewing out at sea.

Fish are swimming abundantly,

You are now relatively close to shore.

Lush green grass grows now, with lots of misty dew,

Yet, you can still see the sand peeking through in some places,

Still even find seashells.

The land is so flat,

As far as the eye can see in the distance.

You imagine a sandy beach that has been flattened over time by the tides,

Drenching salty water, as wave after wave extends and then recedes.

Swan Quarter is on a fault line.

Once a watery haven for inhabitants of the ocean,

Now the salty waters have temporarily receded and not returned.

Swan Quarter has become an inlet,

Many fishing boats dock ashore.

Here is one fishing boat named Little Michael,

What a sentimental surprise,

The eyes have become the ides.

Swan Quarter is Swan Quarter, and the misty magic does abound...

The kind of magic that binds ocean and sands together,

The kind of magic that combines the dazzling sun of the days upon that blessed horizon,

Those sparkling, glittering lines,

With the damp swirling air and the magical mists of the night.

Creatures

You can feel their mists forming and becoming more solid.

Creaking

Of all of the docking boats that once existed,

Their ghosts remain.

Reaching

To draw you further in,

To where you cannot survive.

This is also the land of the pirates,

A place where thieves come home.

Competitive cunning stands upon the justification that more is less,

And less is more, so why not profit and even the score?

Wealth and riches, filthy lucre is their treasure,

Sometimes a predator for pleasure,

Blackbeard once lived nearby.

Who is legion?

I am I.

Sometimes once reveals a pearl of purity,

In a pirate's heart,

Yet, the ocean still requires more,

Relentless in its claim to devour all land,

And all souls who would dare to crossover before their time is another fault line at Swan Quarter...

(Excerpted from the slipstream short story I wrote, "Swan Quarter")