Rushing water blinds me and I bounce off a boulder. A hiss of air and softening of my raft. The hasty rip of tape. Silence.
Wavering between contentment and loneliness.
Noticing everything and nothing at all. The slap of a beaver's tail awakens me.
Whipping of a fly line and a brown trout's lazy interest in the poorly presented fly.
Rain and rustling nylon lull me to sleep.
Sputtering from the stove then peace. There will be no more hot water.
Listening to the cry of a Bald Eagle as I chase it bend to bend, leading me on.
Slaloming around fisherman, I know the confluence is close.