16d • 🖕 Hi
The mist sat low over the marsh that morning.
The mist sat low over the marsh that morning.
Not thick—just enough to soften the edges of things.
I had gone out before first light, as was the custom. In old England, a duck hunt was not rushed. You moved with the land, not against it.
Reeds whispered as I stepped through, slow and deliberate. No sudden movement. No noise beyond what already belonged there.
The birds were out on the water.
You could hear them before you saw them.
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The mist sat low over the marsh that morning.
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