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the island lies to the side of the main channel fifty feet from the western bank. prairie grasses still live there, never been lost to the plow. the island is where deer come after they have been wounded, running through the brush, broken arrows hanging from their flanks. in the mud are raccoon tracks frozen for a time, until the river rises in the spring and wipes the mud smooth. the **** will stay on the island away from the dogs and bright lights shined at him into the night trees. geese stop by here in the late fall. they rest in the shallow gravely waters, near where walleye will spawn in the spring. they don’t stay long. and when they leave their wings beat the water, the reflected spray causing prisms to form in my lens. others have come to the island. they came to take fish and deer and quail, and scattered across the island are fire scars, mildewed blankets, styrofoam bait cups, spent shotgun shells, beer cans. all the things that people bring to use and when they go, leave them in the tall grasses, unseen until you look deeper.
0
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 1:17 AM UTC
i came to the island to make photographs
the island lies to the side of the main channel fifty feet from the western bank. prairie grasses still live there, never been lost to the plow. the island is where deer come after they have been wounded, running through the brush, broken arrows hanging from their flanks. in the mud are raccoon tracks frozen for a time, until the river rises in the spring and wipes the mud smooth. the **** will stay on the island away from the dogs and bright lights shined at him into the night trees. geese stop by here in the late fall. they rest in the shallow gravely waters, near where walleye will spawn in the spring. they don’t stay long. and when they leave their wings beat the water, the reflected spray causing prisms to form in my lens. others have come to the island. they came to take fish and deer and quail, and scattered across the island are fire scars, mildewed blankets, styrofoam bait cups, spent shotgun shells, beer cans. all the things that people bring to use and when they go, leave them in the tall grasses, unseen until you look deeper.
Written by
72/M/Northern Illinois
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 1:17 AM UTC
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