The rain patters on the canvas, drops into the lake, the lures dancing in on the rippling surface, and the fire hisses. A slow drag of a rolled cigarette. A long exhale. Closed eyes.
Time alone. The mountains enclosed within misty clouds. Skies greyed over. The thick scent of pine sap.
The creak of the tall trunks. The tick of an old watch. A slow rub of the temples.
Paddy Dobson
27th April 2023