âmes pétillantes ~ classic rock imagines

• Tom Petty •

I feel like I must preface this by saying that I do not live in Florida, I do not live near Florida, I do not even live in the USA, and therefore know very little about it's swamps and marshes. A lot of this is research-based - if anything's wildly untrue, please tell me!

--☆--

You stood on the shore, letting the dark waters of the marsh lap at your bare feet, that familiar Florida comfort curling around your muddy toes. You inhaled deeply. The sun was beginning to set in the distance, and discordant sunlight filtered through the long, green fingers of the trees, casting shifting shadows on your closed eyelids.

Somewhere in the grasses, you heard the harsh cry of baby Clapper Rails, beneath the 'whoosh' of the heavy summer wind as it carried through the thick grass. On the opposite bank, a large heron watched you with its glowing, prehistoric eyes, and released an ancient croak - a curious communication. Far off, in the distance, beneath and above all else, there was the low, deep grunts of alligators hidden in the miles of undisturbed water.

"Ya photosynthesin'?"

Opening your eyes, you glanced over to see Tom in the mud boat, bobbing gently in the hot summer breeze, a little ways from the shore. His fishing rod was cast over the marsh-stained lip, but he was stretched out along the boat's floor, crossed feet resting on the seat you had vacated. Now, he'd propped himself up on his elbows to watch you with a smile.

"Not in this swamp, I ain't," you said. "My Pa'll kill me if I'm back after sundown."

Tom perched himself on his seat once more, grasping onto his fishing rod, which had begun to move unsteadily with the boat. You had been looking for the Clapper Rails nest - those birds were elusive, but not impossible to spot - and turned to watch Tom at his movement.

However, he had already stilled, sharp eyes laser-focused further in the waters. His silence set you momentarily on edge, and you followed his stare. As suspected, you saw the tell-tale shape of a gator floating steadily through the water - its protruding eyes and rounded snout floated just above the surface, looking like nothing more than an piece of driftwood. However, you could see its beady eyes as they darted around its territory, and for a second, you felt them land on you.

The animal did not even stop at the sight of you intruders - only carried on in its path, heading deeper into the marshes.

You felt as though the whole marsh breathed out in relief with you.

Shifting in his seat, Tom met your eyes with a facetious grin. "Not if the gator's get you first."

Having been raised by overprotective parents in and around the regions' marshlands, often roaming them with Tom by your side, you understood how to protect yourself from the animals that called them home. They were a particular piece of nature you, nor any human, could ever call their own.

It was with this respect that you approached the marshes; not quite frightened, but not quite unafraid either.

In short, you understood the behaviour of Florida's fearsome alligators, and when and where to avoid if you didn't want to bump into them. And here and now, you would not stumble upon them unannounced. Only in passing. That being said, you didn't have much time before an alligator would be willing to make a good meal of you both.

With this in mind, you quickly approached the boat. Mud sucked at your bare feet as you dodged the stones and pebbles embedded in the sand. You reached the shallow water that the boat was floating on, which rippled up to your shins, wetting the hem of your capri pants.

"I'd expect my gallant man to make a sacrifice in my name," you said with a smile, leaning your hands on the splintering wood of the boat that had belonged in Tom's family for generations.