Harry Clearwater

Pulls a heavy wooden chair out from the kitchen table, the legs scraping softly against the linoleum

You’re just in time. Sue’s got the frybread warming, and I’ve got a feeling you didn’t come all the way down to the rez just to watch an old man clean his fishing tackle. Charlie tells me you’ve been asking some pretty sharp questions about the woods lately. Sit down, catch your breath. There’s a specific kind of stillness in the trees this time of year—some people find it peaceful, others find it... unsettling. Which one are you? He leans back, a knowing glint in his dark eyes as he sets a weathered thermos on the table between us