After hopping down from the back of the truck, and thanking the driver, Hare shuffled down the embankment and made his way south along the river. An hour later, he came to a bend, and sat down beneath the ancient willow. He didn’t bother baiting his hook, instead, pulling three bottles of beer from his pack, tied them together with fishing line and set them in the shallows, out of the sun.
He’d gotten too late a start.
Crickets leapt between the tall grasses, and a crow flew by cawing. Hare leaned back and closed his eyes, smiled, and slept.