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Stories about Shuksan Rods, etc.

Visits to 'Shuksan Rod Co.'

Dear you,

The nights are colder now.

Grass dew freezes most mornings and I spend my time on rivers topping large boulders and stepping stones because the water is too cold to wade.  The tamarack is turning in the alpine and the oak and maple leaves are starting to blanket the slow current and the pocket water.  Reds and yellows falling in a moment’s breeze as I did, dropping and drifting on a whim.

Rivers have been my only constant, for as long as I remember.  And I repay their loyalty with my own, sharing it only with the bright stars that light up a dark treeline.  And they do, far from a streetlight or a lampshade, the stars are lit up with yesterdays.  If I am thankful for anything it is those moments, and their rememberings, that light up the night sky and fall in a breeze.

      One star over the horizon is you.  The memory of you like a photograph on the dashboard, turned around backwards.  Please, don’t trip and fall or ever fade away.  I won’t.  Throw me up into the sky and lie wayward and look west.  Find me on moonless nights sparkling over an autumn horizon.  Never to fade or fall away.

     In the fall I miss you the most.

               Always,  me

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