by Ian Rochford © 2006
No doubt about it, the swamp surely has changed since Lourella passed over. We buried her, with a singing out, at midnight during the last transit of Sirius, wrapped only in the old length of silver-flecked cloth that she said was her birthing gown, as was her wishes. That cloth wasn't made of anything I'd ever seen before, and it seemed to wrap itself around her old body as soon as it touched it. She said it had belonged to her father--that it was royal cloth.
She was Mama's grandmama, oldest of our clan, and she told us her passing would see a change come down. No one really knew what she was on about, but they seemed sure we'd all be leaving the swamp and going into town maybe. Us young 'uns, we didn't feel so good about that--the town folk, they didn't like us much. They called us hicks and inbreeders, though they were always happy to trade stuff for our croc skins, and they paid good money for Lemuel's flackweed, dried an' chopped. I can't smoke it, just makes me sick, but the townies loved it.
Mama's own Mama, who was Lourella's daughter Syrena, had already passed over herself more than a hound's age ago, but she would have liked Lourella's sending off. We baked her favourite Gnarlroot bread, and Lemuel brewed a batch of Flackweed Whisky. I was allowed to join in with the elders, but I didn't see the whole night through. I got skunk rotten on the Flackweed brew, which is real sweet and easy to drink, and I passed out in Lemuel's coracle.
A short time after Lourella's burying, the change started coming over the swamp. It got warmer first, and the ground grew darker. It began to get firmer and sort of moist. Well, moist in a different way, like it was sweaty, and it smelled different, too. Like the smell when Lemuel was skinning crocs. Then, other things started changing. Little Mazy, she was the first one to notice that the trees were different.
"They's wavin' to me as I poled by," she told Mama. "Real friendly like, an' I swears one of them sang, too."
Mama looked at her, real level. "Trees don't sing, child, an' they was probably just a-wavin' in the wind."
Mazy just said, "Yes, Mama," and winked at me as she went to do her chores.