by Richard L. Provencher
5/08/2012 / Writing
Moose River waves thrust against
our starboard side causing a
desperate course into a small bay.
Clambering ashore we breached a spit
of swampy land. Droning soon
carried our gaze and bites like spears
penetrated our skin and we slapped
and yelped in circles but could remain
no longer. Run. But mosquito bite itching
lasted a very long time.
Â Richard L. Provencher
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