2/11

A cabin sits quietly at the north edge of Lake Elbow. Within, amongst the folds of draping afghans, a woman rocks; stroking a curled basset hound in her lap. Their faces wilt identically and then cascade blankly into an immense muddy void. There was water here before. Though now, Lake Elbow remains a sprinkle of' puddles amidst the rusting frames of disembodied cargo hulls and a single mast to a decayed sailboat that reaches out from beneath the muck. A descent of fog has smudged the evening sun, and, in cue with the waning light, four plaid laden scientists wrap up their observations. Trudging through the putrid filth, they  head home somewhere past County Road B. Their boots fart against the suction.