Torfdoen

The pale red evening sky is reflected in the water. The sun hangs like a white ball of embers over the black, contourless mountains. No carefree pink, no youthful blue at their edges. Everything blends together. Orange, green, purple. The water....

Face down in the moss. Thank God, the champagne flute is still in one piece. I'm digging like mad in the peaty soil, stealing my lemons. There aren't many. I stare at the back of my hand. That son of a bitch has marked his territory. Gotta...