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Once there were brook trout in the streams in the mountains. You could see them standing in the amber current where the white edges of their fins wimpled softly in the flow. They smelled of moss in your hand. Polished and muscular and torsional. On their backs were vermiculate patterns that were maps of the world in its becoming. Maps and mazes. Of a thing which could not be put back. Not be made right again. In the deep glens where they lived all things were older than man and they hummed of mystery.
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fish
earth
man
loss
nature
world
wonder
past
parable
brooks
glens
environment
trout
mystery
destruction
creation
maps
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Cormac McCarthy |
65b6747
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USED TROUT STREAM FOR SALE. MUST BE SEEN TO BE APPRECIATED.
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trout-stream
trout
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Richard Brautigan |
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I remember mistaking an old woman for a trout stream in Vermont, and I had to beg her pardon.
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trout
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Richard Brautigan |
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The fish was a twelve-inch rainbow trout with a huge hump on its back. A hunchback trout.
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trout
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Richard Brautigan |
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My bare foot sounded like a sad trout flapping against the marble floor.
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funny
trout
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Kevin Hearne |