mhk

I’m just a boy, standing in front of another boy, asking him to buy me 8 lobsters.

Melody in Textus Interruptus.

Melody in Textus Interruptus.

Singing Beach in Manchester by the Sea, MA.

Singing Beach in Manchester by the Sea, MA.

Sunset over the West End.

Sunset over the West End.

Ghost sand this morning on Crane Beach. Not terrible.

Pemigewassett River near Bristol, May 2014.

Pemigewassett River near Bristol, May 2014.

Duck à l’Orange

Magic — Coldplay

This one has that “remake of Mariah Carey” vibe to it.

Wonderful Unknown  Ingrid Michaelson

Let this new music from Ingrid Michaelson be a deep tissue massage to your weary and underappreciated soul. I pity the fools for whom this song will one day become the one that reminds them of that special someone they lost, because the breezy sound together with the memories, it will be death by nostalgia… This song is the music equivalent of walking down the sidewalk and unexpectedly encountering the scent of a freshly baked pan of lasagna in a world where you are Garfield, Jon is dead, and no one you know can make it quite the same way he did.

Leftovers. Mashed potatoes dissolved into broth, bacon bits and chives.

North Maine Woods, fly fishing for September brook trout with spawning colors. Taken on a smelt streamer in the water pictured above on a perfect overcast day.

Anticipation… A huge part of the joy of fly fishing and what makes it addictive is the anticipation. Just like when you see a glimpse of Camden Yards as you walk past the entrance to the bleachers and get a hint of how green and big and open and vibrant the stadium is on the inside, fly fishing is full of moments where you are constantly on the edge of something thrilling. There is the anticipation you get when choosing flies in the store as you think about your upcoming trip. There is the anticipation of driving to the access point, seeing the roads curve in and out of the morning fog. There is the feeling you get the moment you get out of the car, stretch your legs, and take that first breath of river air. And as you start gearing up and piecing together your rod you begin to anticipate the first cast and the sight of your fly line uncurling itself on the water. And as you begin to walk towards the sounds of the river, there is the anticipation which builds when you can hear the ripples through the trees before you can even see them. Then there is the moment just before you break out onto the bank and you can see the water reflecting a thousand tiny specks of sunlight that dance around the rocks and remind you of the splashy rises you hope to see when soon you connect with the first trout of the day. And every time that fly lands on the water there is the constant anticipation that a fish will rise, that any split second you will see that splash and feel the electric pulse of its underwater wiggling in your rod hand. The anticipation is what makes it.

Naturally occurring big bonsai on the banks of the Blackfoot River.

Naturally occurring big bonsai on the banks of the Blackfoot River.