The Drift

The sun dips in the Western Sky.

Water rushes past but the river is empty.

The boat hardly makes a sound as it is lowered into the water.

No words are spoken as the boat is coaxed to a speed that matches the fly.

All eyes are transfixed on one spot, filled with optimism, that at any moment a solitary nose will emerge.

In unison we are moving down the river.

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