They say you can’t run away from your past but that’s true only to a certain degree.
What you cannot run away from is yourself.
One can change appearance, habits and manners but that scent is still there same as it was in himself, and in the man.
He could pick it up, the same way a dog can sniff it in another dogs’ ass.
Lost in his thoughts he suddenly realized he was walking barefoot on the edge of a fairway; it’s been five years since he felt the grass under his feet, the smell of rotting wood in the rain forest and that of decaying salmon in the river.
He could still feel the weight of the flyline loading the long rod for the next cast, the current playing with it during the swing of the fly, or the pull of the bowstring against his right fingers and the inexplicable sensation that those lethal thirty inches of Port Oxford cedar are going to fly true and on target even before they clear the longbow.
That thought grabbed him deep inside, hurting and burning and digging right to his core.
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