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Black,s silvers and grays color the lake’s surface, the reeds along the shore, each beach rock, every tree you can still see reflected onto the calmness, until they become a mass of towering dark, a wall of black, corralling the stillness.
From somewhere inside the forest an owl floats out over the water. I watch it until it magically disappears as easily as it became something else to gaze at. It was simply gone.
Paleish western sky is illuming a long thin sliver, now easing a soft translucence. Then above, the first star chips blinking, from the east, a fingernail moon. One second it wasn’t, the very next it is.
Today’s warm air is now so evening cool I can taste it. It’s very nice. I take a deep breath, caught in the wow of a summer evening, with not too many left this season, not the least little bit of a breeze.
I could stand here a long time, but I only linger a bit more, I turn for the campfire. The fire is small but bright orange, red, yellow lofted streaks, with tiny sparks, smoke vapors, it will be equally good to look upon.
--The trout whisperer
