Today I met the River King. He was dead but that didn’t take away from his majestic presence.
Actually I am pretty sure I ran into him before at that same spot. It was about a month ago and I was quietly contemplating the curtain of water in front of me when something tried to make off with my little toe. Though I couldn’t see who was after it (he was hiding in the sand), I knew it had to be both big and ballsy, which is how anyone would describe the King now, set up on his final perch, daring all-comers to ignore him.
It’s a shame we didn’t meet under different circumstances. I have been shrimp hunting in that river before and never have I seen anything even close to his size. How I would have loved to carry that trophy home in the dark after a long night of fork-fishing (we tape forks to the end of sticks and wade the river with flashlights. You gotta be quick…). It seemed only fitting in my horse-flu haze that he be given a proper Yertle the Turtle perch though I’m guessing by now the jungle has already run off with him.