“I’m going out for a walk and a bite,” he said.
No one answered.
Not that he expected anyone to. It was just a habit. A way of hearing his own voice. A way of reminding himself he still had one to use. A connection to other times and places.
It’s been a while since there was anyone home who could reply.
He took the fishing rod and pail. “It’s time to go,” he said to the bait. “I see you ate the leaves I left you yesterday. Good job!”
The spider on the eaves stirred when he shut the door. “You keep an eye,” he saluted with the rod and chuckled. “More than one, since you have them.”
The evening light was soft. The lake was quiet. The water had barely a ripple.
“Hello there, swimmers,” he greeted. “Who would come to keep my gullet company tonight?”
For Crispina’s Crimson’s Creative Challenge
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