At the end of Woodlot Lane

It's a nothing little street, sure it intersects with a highway, there are a thousand cars shooting past every hour, but they are exactly that shooting past, they don't stop, no one gets out of the car to have a look around.

Well that's not true because obviously I do, just one man on a Tuesday morning, early, thinking he hasn't dressed warm enough wandering around in a tiny little wooden area, heading towards what he assumes is the coast.

Of course he knows it's not a 'real' coast, it mangroves, messy, without a place to swim, nature in it's non human friendly form, but it is peaceful, it's is beautiful, it is blue and green, and calm and everything I was hoping it would be when I stopped the car because I knew not enough people did that.