A little memorabilia for an autumn day.
A skim of ice, peanut brittle thick, rimmed the banks of the Rapidan river. It crackled when Tom slid the camo-painted canoe into the December chilled water. He swung the canoe parallel and held it steady while Ted boarded the front and the boy scrambled into the center, his .22 pointed safely across the river.
“All set?” Tom didn’t wait for a reply. He stepped in and shoved off, his own shotgun nestled alongside him. He shifted to get comfortable, rocking the boat.
“As soon as you get comfortable, there Tom… Anymore rockin’ and the boy’ll paint the inside a’ your boat a shade of runny eggs and toast.” Ted, the boy’s father, looked back. “You alright there, boy?”
The boy nodded silently. He was wrapped in a faux-sheep’s-skin coat, thick gloves and a dark knit hat. He sat on a cushion and leaned back against a cooler full of…
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