In those deep wells of time that exist between the seasons, anglers dream and pine and design with every breath as they await the return of things. Tarpon in the spring. Giant redfish in the winter. Snook in the summer. Whatever the quarry, the desire is the same. An all-consuming feeling that seems as though it will kill you if […]
Pandalus Borealis
The Psychopomp and the Angler
Ferrying deceased fish, glistening effigies to a former prowess, onto to their final resting places is my profession. I do not dispense the deathblows, as I am but a humble butcher. I lay no judgement upon the fish beyond that which dictates the preparation of their flesh. I move them quickly and freshly onward through the afterlife, and no second […]