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She looked down at his cookware and fanned her arms.

'Vous ne pouvez
pas allumer de feu içi - le
feuillage prend façilement feu.'

He watched her arms,
then the flow of the brook,
and contemplated: 'The stream floods.'
(Raising his own arms): '"Rises?"'

'Le terrain est très sec.
Le vent sec propage le feu.'

He looked up past the scrubland and into the forest.
'We'll relocate further up.
Thanks so much for warning us.
Away from that river.
"Flash floods"
We will go up.'

She swept animatedly at the valley
as if conducting an orchestra.
'Un petit feu peut façilement s’étendre et
brûler
une fôret
entière. Vous comprenez?'

He nodded hard, pointed:
'Thank - YOU. "WOOSH!" Our "STUFF"!
We will go - UP.'

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Language of Prairie Dogs Manchester, UK

If music journalists are failed musicians, then what does that make us? We are failed musicians AND failed music journalists:

thequietus.com/articles/05029-looking-for-water-jj72-interview-review

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