TIME (fiction)

The angler waded cautiously along the edge of the stream looking for the subtle rings of a rising trout. His demeanor was such that it was obvious that he had seen more than his share of day's on the water. His face was tanned and the hair that peaked from beneath his hat was a light shade of gray. His fly vest was faded and stained from years of exposure to sun and rain. His manner was casual but focused; his senses keenly attuned to everything that was happening in the stream and the surrounding space. A tiny dimple, nearly hidden by the overhanging vegetation, caught his attention so he paused and waited.