A trip to the Delta

The trip was lazy, slow in the heat of afternoon. The shore slipped by, reeds reaching higher than our heads. I lay back and watched the clouds drift by as Sam used a pole to move us. Summer was nearly over and we hoped to reach the Promised Land soon.

Just a mile or so down the big river and we could stop. The soil was said to be rich and dark. I planned on scooping up as much as I could before we poled our way back upriver. The Delta was not our home but the soil was good.