The bone-chilling frosty mornings; deodorant destroying heat of late summer scouts; coffee craving early morning hides and shin thumping stumbles coming out in the evening; have all lead to this cat ‘n mouse game the two of you’d been playing for now 4 years, has become more camaraderie than adversarial.
Nothing moved. Not sound. Not time. Not my mind. Everything was in lock-step frame. Only my eyes were in motion. But not real motion; scanning, perceiving, transmitting. They were only in a primal recording mode. Time – and everything in its being – was on hold. Three months earlier I had set out across the […]
Philippe, as the stories told to me by the villages, was a great man in the community. He had learned well from his father. The senior del Pescador was a man of great strength and muy carismático … un hombre de la grandes fuerza y carácter.