The cool touch of the moonlit kissed boulder sends a chill straight up his spine. It is very, very, early, and he has been up for hours. Turbulent streams of feelings race through his chest, while the emptiness of regret leave him paralyzed. Ghosts, long exorcised –or so he thought, float through these vacuums. On nights like these, morning never comes soon enough for Samuel
He should be exhausted, but instead is wired. He imagines himself as a marionette, strings pulled by the haunting apparitions.
Staring through a patch of leaves in a bush to his right, Samuel reflects on the moonlight’s path, in, around, and behind everything it touched. There was something magical about the moonlight, something soft, and comforting, even in the fright of dark, Moon’s light can take you places. Unfortunately, this evening’s lunar wonderings, had only taken him across a barren wasteland of desolate memories, leading always towards the ever expanding void of the present. Only his own wandering dreams and imagination could possibly be more cruel and unforgiving.
It would still be several hours, before the sun would allow him to begin to break camp, and head to his favorite fishing hole.
Though his cabin was only a few meters away, he would not go back inside tonight… though the Ghosts traveled with him constantly, the cabin was their lair.
Reaching into his right hip-boot, he feels the comforting, cool metallic touch of calmness – sponsored today by the good fellows at Glenmulfdowne. The cool, fiery, relieving and suffocating elixir rolls through his lips and tumble awkwardly down his mouth and throat…. Instantly, even before the smell registered, Samuel feels free.
As he lurches further and further into his own personal little freedom, he recalls bits and pieces of this past Saturday, and his night on the river. An uncharacteristic smile creeps across his lips as the more ridiculous moments of the evening bubble to the surface. As the sun rises, Samuel realizes he had not had any more swallows after that initial sip, though the ghosts were gone.
But, with the coming light, shadows formed. As he prepared his coffee over the tiny cooking fire, and sliced some chunks of bacon to fry, Samuel suddenly realized he was about to have breakfast alone…. It was nothing new… for some time now at least, but somehow, at this moment it struck a chord, and he felt low.
He put the bacon away and saw to his fishing gear.
His fly box was surmounted by an overly large and garish looking pink barrette. His had brushed faintly against it as he reached to unclasp the box.
It was time to go.