Unnatural Natural

Rocks poke out as if to say “Hello.” Reeds wave in the wind as if to say “Welcome to our home.” Waders reach out to grab his thighs. His body bends as a hand rests on his knee; the other holds a can. A shirt of flannel hangs from his shoulders. Wrinkles of flannel and the hair on his head rustle in the wind. Bucket lids float by the shore and bump into the rocks with each ripple. Standing among nature, he pours from the can. Seven buckets wait while he adds to one at a time; their handles lay to the side as if wild.