I can’t stop thinking about alligators

I can’t stop imagining how peaceful it would be to lounge on their big, wide backs and drift to sleep. That beautiful hazy dream-state gifted by hot summer days.

My friend, the alligator, would slowly swish their tail back and forth, propelling us through the muck and the gloom of the swamp. I have access to food so they do not need to be as concerned with conserving energy, we can just float and wander and drift.

Toes and fingers drift in the water as we push forward. “Bit hot?” one of us asks and the other makes a low, grumbling noise, and we head into the shades, the trees arching over us, umbrellas. “Bit cold?” we drift back maybe an hour later.

We wander the waterways of the swamp.

There is so little talking and so much beautiful slime.

I reach down and hug the gator’s thick, leathery, ancient neck. It playfully nips at my fingers with some of the most powerful jaws in creation. I playfully, with finger-strength only, hold its snout shut and it grumbles at the inconvenience.

We laugh heartily and drift to sleep again as the sun drizzles heat upon us like honey.

There are witches on the banks, trudging through mud or tending gardens or arranging bones among moss and rotting leaves. I wave lazily and they wave back.

The alligator pauses and we drift closer, I reach down and fetch one of the watertight bags that have been trailing us. I find the bottle with the witch’s name and toss it ashore. I decline immediate payment, it isn’t due to the end of the month.

Or whenever, really. There is never a rush.

We continue transversing the swamp, alligator and I, the most relaxed witchy delivery service around.