The fireman walks down to the dock, where the fisherman adjusts his line every few minutes. I see the fireman asking the fisherman questions. The fireman seems concerned, looking towards me as he talks. You see, I’ve been taking photos of the firehouse,… Continue Reading “Fishing”
She said we never reach the river we dream of. Never. Yet, she’s there, roasting marshmallows, gutting fish, keeping dry inside a tent. Perhaps, she’s forgotten how a wild river feels along the soles of her feet. It’s cold water, during the hottest days,… Continue Reading “No Dreaming Required”
Although I haven’t seen the small river yet… the one tucked back in the Coast Range, I know the trees will come up to its edge, some will lean too close, arching over the water. Ferns will dot its shores, trailing back to darker… Continue Reading “The Small River”
Klickitat River, December 2018 More images can be found here.
The river– Cold, of a certain depth, certain speed, enough to conceal . Annie had freckles that hid frowns, dusty eyes—unmanageable red hair like wild wires sitting upon a strange round head. Pulling Jessie’s wet wrists, towards the water, hands slipped away. Annie… Continue Reading “The River (Portrait #1)”