I come to my wetlands because it speaks a language I know.
The winds, the ripples, all the sounds make up a language.
My mother feared she lost her Yiddish.
I fear that I cannot communicate this language as well as I would like to.
But there are others that do and I take heart that I am part of a movement of people
who know these sounds and know the words and poetry, the testimonials, and solemn odes,
the doggerels and shanties, the rhyming couplets, and the lines of melodies
that make up the language of the wetlands, the lands that bring water
and an abundance of life with them.
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