sometimes forgetting that it’s often the guys in back who tell the story.
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
he’s fierce, big, nasty, angry and ugly
but his droppings are rather pretty.
mind where you put your feet.