late that night he was fishing on the banks of little sand creek watching the still water, looking for wakes and swirls: the tale-tell signs of madness that sometimes struck catfish during nights like these, that sometimes led to frenzy. 3 times in the last hour he had seen an ancient carp rise up to the outer rim of his lantern's light, only to watch it sink back into the water. 15 minutes ago he saw a white and spectral heron glide down the creek bed, as silent and effortless as a passing spirit, and he looked down from it to notice a long moccasin bumping thru the reeds, not twenty feet away. this world was speaking to him, and so was the other one. he was trying to understand what she had meant when she folded her arms and leaned against the back porch rail to say: what exactly are you are fishing for?Birth sign: Taurus
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