Darkness was approaching quickly, bearing down upon us like a locomotive, wheezing and huffing, huffing and wheezing, occasionally coughing; yet drawing ever closer by the hour.
“It will be dark soon”, my associate remarked. “Bloody genius”, I thought out loud; drawing laughter from the unwashed masses and a wry smile from the idiot who was my associate.
In the next county, a gentle, wet rain fell uncharacteristically downward; as it does in that county; adding it’s ingredients to a large, rolling water-filled lake.
Upon the lake, fishermen with and without boats were engaging in the business of fishing, on or in the lake. There has been great debate through the years as to which method – on or in the lake – is most fruitful, but it is agreed that either practice will produce more fish than fruit, except in the cooler months, when the fish; full to the brim with fruit; decline the offerings of the men on or in the lake, and take their leave for a time, maybe visiting relatives or maybe traveling to the neighboring counties or maybe bartering fish for Euro passes and getting around by rail, except for those who can afford to fly, and except for those who prefer to go by foot.
Like vagabonds, we wander, hair lines receding like the distant hot and shiny sun sinking beneath the horizon, swallowed by the expanding darkness.