We arrived as hero’s. I had shot such deer before, but never without an adult. My aunt’s cook, Robin, who in truth ruled the house, spied William’s fish. He made such a commotion over the fish that Will surprised me by giving it to him.

I was sitting in a large moss covered oak tree on the bank of a creek just small enough to babble and just large enough to have pools. The roots by the creek were quite well exposed and through the windows that the roots framed, I could see fish swim and hunt and hide. [...]

Let not this mad shepherd taint history,

By drawing lines tween stars misunderstood.

He declares for all time no defense none,

For the feverish dream this poem proceeds.

Let not a shepherd who himself straying,

Make trails that lead far from what is and was.