The mornings find me rowing across the placid surface. To the middle of the waters where the icy depths are greatest. This is where I leave the offering, tied to a rock & dropped. Only a plop & a gurgle sing a catechism to this deed, before the rhythmic slap of oars takes me back.
What do the fish think? A swirling passing them to the deeps, where memories lie frozen in loneliness, silence pressing them into the silt and mud.
#microfictiony2