Chapter Thirty-Eight
Autumn was a foreigner on the island. The winds had changed direction and the tides had become more agitated, but even what fronts moved in from the north did little more than cool the morning breezes. Nothing was permanent. The northern winds, especially at the head of the dying storms coming in from Oklahoma Territory or over from Louisiana, blew the waters back with low tides until sections of the bayous and marshes were entirely devoid of standing water. Only thick mud spotted with stands of grass remained, plagued by birds digging for buried crustaceans that were free for the taking without the water to protect them. The shores of Kennedy’s Bayou had created such a spectacle when Alfred had taken Florence for a walk the day before that she had been fascinated to
