Hidden along the rivers in Arizona are the marshlands. I find the marshes and the flyways soothing and magical, because it is there like migratory the fowl that I, too, rest among the cottonwoods, junipers and often buggy and smelly marshes. To me it is rejuvenation, a form of rebirth similar to the flora and fauna that flourish in the spring runoff. It is part of the native, wild child that lives in my soul.