Nightblind, we wove through mangroves suspended above the king tide, mullet jumped and dim amber lights of distant houses, the bridge, and the dockyard blurred under the star-speckled sky You can’t see the dirt now, he said and it was magical, Throsby Creek, sand-banked and fish softsplash Lou Smith (University of Melbourne, Australia) http://www.swampwriting.com/?page_id=141