Un jour, ma cabane


A steaming mug of Lapsang Souchong. That’s just what you’ll need, waiting for the tide and the winds to be just right for the striped bass. Big and strong striped bass, that you fish in the surf, wading up to your chest, shivering from cold, punching a heavy skagit spey line in the teeth of the wind with a 13′ two handed rod. Hard work for sure.

And lurking in the back of your mind, like the ghost of a fear. Because tonight, alone in this shack on the shore, with just the light of a petrol lamp, you know you’ll remember all these Lovecraft stories about Massachusetts’ shores, about Plymouth and Salem and Ipswich. About the frightening abyss in the ocean.

And the shadows will be deep.

7 thoughts on “Un jour, ma cabane

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