Spring starts in the bayou before the city notices.

Mara realizes it when her boot sinks deeper into the mud than yesterday.

Not much.

Just enough that the ground feels softer.

Like it’s tired of holding its shape.

Chibi pokes the mud with a stick.

“It’s breathing again,” he says.

Mara rolls her eyes.

“Ground doesn’t breathe.”

Chibi shrugs.

“This one does.”

They stand at the edge of the dark water beneath the cypress trees.

Spanish moss hangs like old curtains in the humid air.

The bayou smells like wet leaves and something older underneath.

Chibi taps something floating near the roots.

A small wooden cross.

One of the markers people leave when someone dies out here.

Mara steps closer.

“That wasn’t here before.”

“Nope.”

He turns the cross with his stick.

A name is carved into the wood.

Matthias.

Mara squints.

“That’s the guy from the cemetery story.”

Chibi nods.

“The one who walked out of his grave.”

She looks back at the water.

“That’s just rumors.”

“Sure.”

Chibi pokes the mud again.

Water slowly fills the hole he makes.

Like the earth is pushing something upward.

“You ever notice something about spring?” he asks.

“What?”

“The ground gets softer.”

“That’s normal.”

“Yeah.”

He watches the dark water between the trees.

“But it also gets thinner.”

Mara frowns.

“Thinner?”

“Like it’s tired of keeping things down.”

The water moves.

Just a small ripple.

Not wind.

Something deeper.

Mara notices.

“Did you see that?”

Chibi nods slowly.

“Yeah.”

“What do you think it was?”

He taps the floating cross again.

The name turns in the water.

Matthias.

Chibi smiles faintly.

“Someone remembering the way back.”

The wind moves through the moss above them.

The swamp grows quiet for a moment.

Mara looks deeper into the trees.

For a second she thinks she sees something standing in the water.

Tall.

Still.

Watching.

Then the moss shifts again and the shape disappears.

She looks at Chibi.

“You see anything?”

He shrugs.

“Spring.”

The bayou water ripples once more.

Somewhere below the surface something breaks the water.

Just once.

Like a breath.

🜍 BIRTH — Week 1
In New Orleans
spring doesn’t just wake the city.

The bayou wakes first.

And the bayou
remembers
who was buried in it.

---

🜍 One theme. One month. One descent.
🜍 Birth. Rebirth. Return.

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