The leaves were changing colour.

Noah believed he was somewhere in the north continental United States, maybe Wisconsin. It would not be a good thing to have to deal with winter here. He resolved to drive south as soon he could.

But first, the river. Tired of rabbit meat, he was hankering for a change of taste. He waded in naked, pulling behind him the trotline he found in an decrepit bait shop. The water was refreshingly cold, but later he would need to find a canoe, or a boat of some kind.

The forest hedging the serpentine river was full of aromatic, dry wood. His fire burned bright and hot in the cooling night. In a nice change of clothes, a flannel shirt, canvas jeans, and wool socks, Noah enjoyed a meal of channel catfish. The smoke, drawn by a breeze, disappeared into the milky way.

He had noticed the alien logorrhea increasing in intensity the further he moved north; despite this, he had gotten used to it and accepted it as a reality. Sparks ran through his smile as he fell asleep on his bedroll.