hillbilly_handfishing tender_square we crossed the footbridge over the empty marsh. the preserve signs said soon the waters would be full of frogs and snakes and not to disturb their habitat. dad remembered how he used to catch frogs as a kid in the ditches of tecumseh and i wondered if he ever brought them home and startled grandma. mom spotted two ducks in the corner, a drake and hen i'd seen the week prior, necks scrunched into their bodies as they huddled at the lip of land and water. further up along the trail, we marveled at the lengths of fallen lumber, the divots left when root systems tip to sky and the ponds formed by rain. a couple summers ago, when my parents were at the suicide hill creek, dad recalled catching fish by hand as a boy. one swam near enough as he was reliving the experience, and using the reflex, he grabbed for it, a fish this big, both he and mom were shocked by the wet and slimy flopping fish, they laughed as they told me, i felt the press of summer sun as snowflakes fell, before dad released the fish back into the murky waters. 230402 what's it to you? who go blather from