They disappear a few moments later. Along the way, I pass a bloated raccoon carcass, its eyes picked out by vultures. The margins of life and death are narrower out here, and bleed into one another. Back on the mainland, death is pushed to the shoulder of the road or hidden in wooden coffins. But on the island life and death are knitted together, stitched into the same fleshy fabric.
Coon becomes vulture, vulture becomes marsh grass, grass becomes deer, deer becomes gator.
Finally, the dark forest gives way to sky-spreading dunes. I chase the beach hungrily, my ears ringing with the roar of the ocean, and dive naked into the wild water. I float on my back and watch the stars spin above me. The hairs on my neck bristle. My scalp tingles.