The white dog froze, one paw raised.
The green boat turned slowly,
The forest echoed to splash of his oars,
Our smoke cast a mist over the water.
He rose from the lake with a grin;
a belly roll above battle fatigues,
hung out by the fire.
I had no beer, no Finnish.
‘Fish not good; one so big’,
he spread his arms.
Berry, he counted fingers;
one, two, three week, maybe.
There was a box tied round the dogs neck
Global positioning system.
She find moosa, I find her with phone. See!
I shoot moosa. Bang!
Next month, a hundred migrant workers from Thailand will arrive to pick the berries.