Just a little off today; glum, blue.
So I sit here in my light brown lounger, foot rest up, looking at a mélange on my wall.
At the top there is a black framed shadow box from one of my sons. I holds an overly large fishing fly with the hook end imbedded in a small cork. It is a decorative piece given to me as a gift and not meant for fishing. I enjoy looking at it.
Below it are eleven frames, in brown, they hold photos of things that my sons and I have experienced in the borderlands between the Adirondack Mountains and the St. Lawrence River.
This borderland is a mixture of mountain rivers, pouring out of the Adirondacks, flowing swiftly towards the St. Lawrence and then calming down just before they give up their independence to the big river.
These scenes, at one time – – – not…
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