I wholeheartedly, fucking unequivocally, love the swamp. In terms of general overall personal aesthetics...swamps must be where my art lives. I could have spent days out there drawing and capturing the flaura and fauna. Great twisting canopies of cypress garnished with lazy resurrection lichen swinging in a warm sun drenched breeze. This is the inspiration I was looking for.
The campground was relatively quite on my end. Freedom to explore. Freedom to get totally naked...which I did and documented because...fuck it...I'm having a good time. I was rewarded by the Mother of Swamps for that act of defiance because immediately after getting dressed I found an unmolested turtle shell and some manner of rodent skull one pace from where I setup my camera. More inspiration. I scooped up my loot and went on a search for a gator that I never found.
Somewhere parallel to the trails I discovered an ammo can tethered to a tree. It's contents were small toys, trinkets, and a pad of paper with a pen stashed in a ziplock bag. I assumed this was one of those geocaching things I had heard people talking about. I had no trinkets on me at the time. I scribbled a crude self portrait with the caption "Thee Witchfinder General was here!", stuffed it in the ziplock baggie, and returned all the items to their home.
Things are changing. I'm changing. Something has risen in me since I left Wadmalaw Island. Fear, of really anything other than being mauled by a bear, has left me. I've stopped booking places to stay days in advance. I ignore Google maps and stick to state roads that look like they might run through more interesting shit. I'm starting to wild out. I'm returning to my original from, that strange forest critter I was when I was 25 years younger and I lived in the mountains of Pennsylvania.
I highly recommend getting naked in a Georgia swamp. Keep your boots on though, strange shit lurks in those waters and their intentions for you are even stranger.