The stream is a lazy one; he winds through the alders as if he would rather stay here than reach the river. So would I. Every one of his hairpin hesitations means that much more streambank where hillside briars adjoin dank beds of frozen ferns and jewelweeds on the boggy bank. No partridge can long absent himself from such a place, nor can I. Partridge hunting, then, is a creekside stroll, upwind, from one briar patch to another. Aldo Leopold, Red Lanterns. Hear the whole thing at link below.
Posted on: Mon, 04 Nov 2013 00:29:07 +0000
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