It’s another cool morning here in Arkansas. I went fishing last night and it was wonderful, at dusk, with the fog rising on the water. This isn’t a natural phenomenon – it is due to the cold water pumped out of the depths of beaver lake for hydro-electric power generation.. The humid hot air and cold water create a skin of fog like something out of a James Whale monster movie.I got exactly one nibble—it didn’t matter. It was so peaceful, and with every cast there was fresh hope, and a chance to observe my mental activity. Lots of loose chickens, random worries, and agitation—slowing down. The technical part of fishing—selecting a rig, placing a cast, untangling a line — also good for the brain. I can understand why people dedicate themselves to fishing. Doing no harm, chilling out, maybe catching dinner.
During downtime and I mean real downtime, on the porch, I have been reading Elmore Leonard’s Tishomingo Blues in which a relative innocent gets mixed up with Civil War reenactors who are also engaged in a drug-dealing territory war. It remains to be seen whether he has a patsy for some specific utility, or just a dude caught up in funny business, aging out of the stunt-diving racket. It’s almost in Barry Hannah territory. It’s also current events.
