“I saw it,” he reaffirmed afterwards, sitting on Urqhart Hill looking over the valley, water filled in the dancing fire vision. “I guess the dam would have had to been at about Marty’s house here, then run across the gap connecting Urqhart Hill with, well, whatever that opposite peak’s name is over there.” He looks toward it as if Marty’s house was transparent. And perhaps it was in the moment, just in that instant.
Now let’s draw back and look at the whole thing, at about the same angle Jeffrie saw it in his fire vision.
Behold: the Indian Lake (Sox Pond) basin. 1919. The year fire met water and neither won.
Better get down to the bar and meet the others, he ruminated/thought/pondered.
