brush hog fishing

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Dead calm still. Oak leaves rested motionless. Pines, lacking their signature sway, stood like toothpicks in fully baked cornbread. I fumbled through the dark for a coffee can and filter. It was almost light enough to see the lake. Local on the 8’s predicted perfection. 70 degrees. A slight breeze. Coffee’s done. Shoes on. Carrying … Continue reading


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