The spider-like legs of the walking trees of this area hold still more mysteries of this life that will unravel to the watchful eye. Beneath me the water is layered with millions of fish of graduating size. These mangroves are their nursery and juvenile homes.

When mature, they will gravitate to their proper place in the sea; this to be repeated time and time again until they are no more and cannot return, or this seaside forest no longer exists to serve as this precious shelter.

On the surface, a thousand little creatures play, on the roots of the trees are crabs of all color and size giving me a musical welcome like the sound of a thousand castanets. They play hide and seek as my canoe glides through their enchanted forest.

The trees are alive with birds of all descriptions: the pelicans, herons, ibis, cormorants, and even the roseate spoonbill find this salt water entanglement home. My new-found friends bring a radiance of color to the emerald green.

Traveling inward from the sea, the mangroves form tunnels over tidal canals that move the ocean's waters far inland to mix with the waters of the lakes and streams. Venturing into one of these alluring corridors, I am awed at what length Nature has gone to place a fantasy land on Earth.

Containing my craft and me is a narrow waterway that, cascaded by sunlight streaking through the trees like golden spears, allows my eyes to look in any direction and feast on as many species of flowers that one's memory can hold. Formations of epiphytes, bromeliads, and lilies abound. Ferns embrace Mother Nature's corsage of orchids; so many colors and sizes it baffles my mind.

For days I explore these inward passages and bays. I share an interlude of quiet but for the sounds of Nature at her virgin best. A harmony of music most pleasant is formed by my paddle as I drift along.

So many of my questions have been answered, but yet I have so many more questions to ask. Still yet, will there be time to seek the answers before the madness of machines and our greed extinguish the beauty, wisdom and knowledge that this Utopia of Nature holds?

As I traverse in fear of the "real" world as some may refer, the second of the great wonders of this world will take place. Gatherings of moon dust spill over my craft as I follow its light into the night. This night is one of its full splendor, rising red within moments of the last embers of sun leaving the opposite sky: truly a vision to behold. Soon its crimson will turn into a doubloon of gold, shimmering the waves on the path I follow. More slowly will it rise after the light of day has gone, until it rests beyond the sight of my eyes.

But blind in the darkness I am not. A new and most stunning apparition will mesmerize my eyes. A million, a true million, bits of sparkling glass stretch to the outer edges of my imagination. In this enchanted copse of twinkling lights I will study these stars as did the philosophers of an era long past. Their accuracy and imagination of these other heavenly bodies' placements have been tested and have survived the trials of ancient mariners. Should I not make error with these constellations of celestial navigation, the ebony wake of night will direct my paddles to a homeward port, fulfilling a dream, earning only the smallest of Nature's tributes, but creating the utmost desire to share my thoughts with Man.

The final segment of my journey is now near complete, I need not check the stars or charts to know this, as my eyes and ears have tuned the rhythm of Nature. The muddy waters have replaced the clear; ducks and swans no longer swim where bottles and trash clog the rivers that ran so free. A playful otter will not be seen; nor will the cry of the osprey be heard.

The aftermath of Man is here, his disregarded and left-over. I wonder if he has even seen what beauty was here before he acted? It is hard to concentrate as machines, capable of destroying in mere moments years of time-tested beauty, have frightened the birds from the sky. If only the tears in my eyes could reflect the majesty I have witnessed, they might stop, look, and even listen.

They just might. It may be all that is left.