Creatures of wristwatches and leather shoes, we are molting, reinventing ourselves, crossing over to river time. This is by definition a private process. Chatter seems vaguely profane. It's Dave Foreman who spots the great blue heron on river left. We watch as it trolls the shoreline for fish, then launches itself abruptly and effortlessly, skimming the water's surface and gaining altitude, gliding along the contour of the sandstone wall until it vanishes from our view.
Foreman keeps staring, as at an after-image.
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