Untitled Document

	Trout Lily Studios

Ever fish alone, at night? Things get very strange...	"As night falls, my imagination fills the gathering darkness as the sun retreats from the day..."
A bit of this, a bit of that...	"sediments that at once reek of foul, secret things long dead..."
Sometimes it's never enough...	"We spend the better part of an afternoon drifting bits of fur and feathers to rising trout, sometimes hooking a fish, but more often times not..."
What's in a smelly piece of wood? Turns out, there's quite a bit...	"she gazed at an approaching thunderstorm from the tree, clinging to my branch as she worriedly watched the purple clouds build in the West, lightning walking the path of the primitive gods..."
The power of memories...	"it has squatted there like a dull poisonous toad..."
The end of days...	“My fishing days are over...”
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