Post 1445. Wednesday February 8
I felt sorry for the lady of the lake. Not her of Scott’s poem, but old Mrs Fisher who went down the water every day with a rod and a bag of maggots hoping to land a trout or two. She never did though. She’d take off her boots and stand in the water dangling her bait waiting for a bite, but the only things ever bitten were her toes! When she became frail, some kind soul put a chair in the water for her to sit on.
I saw her in the fish and chip shop the other day. I guess she’s given up.
Friday Fictioneers and to Ted Strutz for the unusual photo!