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salmon king

i am hardly a school, let alone a school of salmon. but trust me when i tell you, if i was a fly ... i wouldn't fish. i've lived in places where rivers have died. where they were killed by progress and ignorance. for every dead river, a martyr. for every raindance a prayer. but where god is dead, salmon is king.

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hardly a ghost left to talk with. the slavs moved on or changed their names to something green. greeks gave up old dishes and slid into repose. runs of salmon thin and thin until a ripple in october might mean carp.
↬ richard hugo, the river now