He’d become accustomed to the Northwest, evergreen and shaded dark. Here he was surrounded by soft leaves, not needles; leaves that carried their deaths secretly inside them, that already heard the whispers of Autumn. Roots and branches that knew things.”
~ Michael Montoure, Slices
some anthropomorpher might say something like “Oh, the things he’s seen” and i’d go all nerd and shit and tell the morpher that Fran is short for Francesca, doesn’t have eyes and isn’t about to tell you anything at all about all the things it didn’t see and even if it did see and have a mouth, one would have to wonder why it would communicate at all with such a small, soft, short-lived creature that constantly struggles to stand on its two feet.
up, down and across, getting nowhere.
on the way back from the lake.
they always say to look where you’re going so you don’t trip and fall over but…
has nothing to do with fly fishing.