Bristol Bay to SF Bay

A month come and gone, and another bizarre activity catalogued and put away for safekeeping. Returning by plane, I have a hard time shaking the feeling that I was ever gone, that the fishing trip was a story I read or maybe something I wrote. But of course, in this day and age we have fotographs and I also have little scraps of paper with scribblings and scratchings that claim to be from moments calm in a month at sea. So I know I went, and that even though I am still sitting here at work, or in my little room on Apgar Street, something has changed. Maybe even a lot, we'll see.