North Woods River Runner

It sounds like the ebbs and flows of traffic on a busy street or distant highway; but it’s not.  There’s nobody else here—upon this bluff ...

I’m sitting in a grove of thorny, low growing bushes called prickly ash.  The name belies their origin because they truly are nowhere near...

It looms—the Black Hill.  Not in a foreboding way, but as an unseen force; both something to be reckoned with as well as an interaction.  ...