Leaves that had fallen to the forest floor before the winter snows were mostly decomposed. Slipping several times upon fresh morning dew, we tumbled toward the river, empty minnow buckets clattered upon moss covered stones that were still exposed despite a thick bed of fragrant, brown leaves.
A thick crusty cake still covered my eyes. Tears streamed down my cheek and washed away a hard substance that had collected in the corner of my eyes during my sleep. Ahead, Bill was already at the creek, pulling from the water the first of several steel minnow traps.
“There’s at least fifty in here, hurry up!”
Nearly fainting from a sudden urge to pee, I quickly unzipped a pair of plaid checkered pants and peed upon a small pine tree growing at the edge of the cold, icy creek—a tree that still stands to this day and although evergreen, seems to bloom this time of year in an almost yellow hue.