John Langan

And then one morning my eyes pop open and waiting for me is this thought, I need to go fishing

and somehow you wouldn’t be surprised if the mountain closest to you were to cast off its trees in one titanic shrug and start to lumber away, a vast, unimaginable beast

You’ll have to excuse me: when I think back to what fishing used to be to me, I can almost forget what it became, so I’m inclined to linger on the memory