Up the lazy river. Around here, that’s what the Atchafalaya is. Slow moving. Without a ripple, she moves with nary a care as mosquitoes buzz above the catfish waters and bugs of an unknown origin call out, breaking the silence of the moment. I can almost imagine a log raft floating into view with a young boy or two doing some fishin’ with their stick poles, cut off pants, bare feet and straw hats. Makes me pine for a slower world where I can throw my cares into the river. Just let them float away on their own time and leave me to gaze out at my dreams, feel the freshness of the evening, watch the fish jump.
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