Some storms you drive toward. Some towns you never leave.
The sky over the lake doesn't ask permission.
Stars above, lightning on the horizon, the whole thing mirrored in still water.
End of day. The lake holds the sky like it's not ready to let it go.
First snow of the year.
Nobody's fishing today.
The road goes somewhere. Today it doesn't matter where.
Same church, every season. Still standing
The living and the dead share the same road here.
October. The boat's still tied up. Nobody's coming back for it until spring.