Doves were behind me in amongst the riverside willows and cottonwoods. Cooing while foraging the river valley floor. I never saw them. I never looked for them. I just listened while watching the water for trout. Their distinctive sound gave them away. Unmistakable. A mourning sound some say. A soothing sound I say.
It was the first real calm after days of howling wind. And with the stillness; with the low ceiling and low light; with the threat of drizzle; and with the sound of Doves, there was the possibility of rising trout. Maybe even a good one.
Doves behind me. Possibilities in front of me…