From deep holes to shallows the water falls, rises again. Chest, ankle, knee, belly, chest, and down again. Rounding a bend they see the plank bridge. Boys, their work done, race and strip and plunge. The two men put on shirts now, feeling the sting of the sun.
Bridge rails bleed pitch, the planks shrink.
The drying tails of their shins stick to their buttocks and thighs. Perhaps because of the shirts they feel undressed, retreat to the water. The water, like unseen fingers, passes over them. They wade on into a shaded, shallower reach of late afternoon, hear the clang of a distant bell. Some farmer's wife signaling an early supper.