Field and Stream


- —Thomas McIntyre, February–March 2019

True friendship­s in middle age are seldom. So, we take them less for granted. They merit signifiers, and Leroy’s signifiers were light.

When I think of Leroy, tall and lank in a stained cowboy hat, I remember his relationsh­ip to kinds of light, like a dusk filled with bull bats in the cottonwood­s on the band of the

Wind River as we fished. Or the mineral-dull winter light of the shrub steppe, hunting chukars on rocky hillsides. Or the gleam in the tall-set black eyes of pronghorns, when Leroy and I knew we’d stalked into range.

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