A Feather of Stone #3
A Feather of Stone #3
“Except for the heat, the mosquitoes, the smell of the water. Those were the same. But the way the land looked, the contours of the canals and the rice fields and the rivers themselves—all that was different. The small trolling motor on this old wooden pirogue made an annoying buzzing sound, like a big, sleepy insect. Richard sat in the stern, one hand on the tiller, maneuvering his way through water paths that had changed ten times since he’d seen them. How long ago had he been here, to this ve...ry place? Maybe forty years? Thirty? Decades blended together.
The sun was hot on his skin, warming his blood. Richard brushed his damp bangs off his forehead and lit a cigarette. He remembered Clio snootily telling him not to smoke in Petra’s house. He guessed Petra hadn’t told Clio she herself had smoked for roughly eighty years. He snorted smoke out his nose, feeling the heat, the chemical aftertaste.
Up there. A quarter mile ahead, the flat, treeless rice fields gave way to a flat swamp.MoreLess
The sun was hot on his skin, warming his blood. Richard brushed his damp bangs off his forehead and lit a cigarette. He remembered Clio snootily telling him not to smoke in Petra’s house. He guessed Petra hadn’t told Clio she herself had smoked for roughly eighty years. He snorted smoke out his nose, feeling the heat, the chemical aftertaste.
Up there. A quarter mile ahead, the flat, treeless rice fields gave way to a flat swamp.MoreLess
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