He’s graceful for a farm boy fat on PBR. I’ve already made a pass. Tyler is just getting to the good shit. The cold weather has lost its lock on the river valley for the first time in seven days, and a small shaft of teasing sunlight is warming my right side. I have about 20 minutes to bask in it before it fades into a cold tree shadow and I freeze my nuts off.
“He could try to rush the thirty feet to shore but knew he wouldn’t make it, his numbed feet like cinder blocks.”
The run slipped through last March without too much resistance. And the prospect of us being waist deep, swinging this year in a sideways OP rain or maybe a deep coastal Oregon mist: Well, it is the stuff of both dreams and longing and frustration.