Saturday, January 23, 2010

For The Love Of A River.

When winter lacquers lakes and river tops, attacks breath and nose as it always does here in New England, when no bow can breach the white glass of January, we go along the waist, the feminine neck of what we would otherwise paddle, merely for our eyes to fondle the aching ice moaning under it's own weight, shrieking and shattering like a crystal chime on a windy day.

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