Whitefish River into your heart, into your soul

you get my 500th post!

a small breath of icy air, made cooler by the small chunks of ice that float along the snaking the river, settles into his lungs.

i do not know. there were so many places he could point to: himself primarily. perhaps it is my leadership. perhaps it is basilica's darker, pious nature.

but he could only speculate.

it is impossible to say for sure.