We take positions, one above the other a bank apart, cast over cast, watching the foil and ferment of the river take the fly, pull us deeper into the current.
A word, just one, to whip the rod, release the line into an arc overheard, and back and arc again placing the fly exactly where it needs to be placed: teasing and worrying the silver form to action.
How long it sat in wait. How long we caught glances as if to say there, there, it was just a premiss, a wildness unexplored.