Wigleaf
He once liked to fish, and he still says that he does, but I know that he goes without bait anymore, that he wakes early and takes no tackle, just drops his line into the lake and watches the fish and the sun and the water and catches nothing, harms nothing, leaves even the hook off his line just in case a dumb fish might bite it and bleed.
Flash Frog
Our first place is near the airport. We sit on the balcony some evenings and watch the planes rip into the sky. The space fits two folding chairs so close our knees touch. Flying makes me anxious but before it did, I used to travel. It’s not the planes themselves—I like being up in the air—it’s a recurring fear of landing in a place I won’t return from.
Tadpoles
Ponder Review
He shakes his head at you as he strains the old-fashioned into the glass, and asks if Catholics believe in a merciful God. You’re still in the middle of writing the piece about the tadpoles, which now includes the scene from last night where you discuss it with him. So it feels like a cheat, him asking this. Like he’s sliced open a set of gills for the grace to get in, and all you have to do is say it right, and there it will be, first in real life and then in the story.