“Just the right rock calls to me. I crouch and finger the worn, smooth spots on its oblong surface. Its weight rests in my hand for a few seconds, before I hurl the cold, blue stone into the lake and turn and walk towards home. My feet catch in the scrubby border of the pebbly shore. Evening approaches over Lake Nipigon, and the sky, the color of a beaver’s tooth, burns at the edge of the horizon in the last rays of the sun. Why did she not want me? The question shadows every other thought in my mind and wounds my soul.”
Book:Harvest Moon