An endless blue sky, heat pressing down.
The lake level dropping, weeds rising higher.
A lone Loon calling, a single coyote answering, then the whole pack joining in, yipping in a wild chorus.
The crows beginning to mob up, their raucous cries echoing off the mountainsides.
The fish strong and hungry, more escaping in the weeds than you bring to net.
The shadows of evening deep and cool.
The lake still, the fish rising to your tiny dry until you can't see it anymore.
The bats by the dozens, flitting over your head and skittering over the calm surface, escorting you back to the truck.