as the northern sun finally set, he took refuge from the blackflies underneath the truck canopy. he sat on top of his sleeping bag eating cheap ramen. washing it down with cold beer.
he rubbed his itchy beard and scratched his bug bitten neck.
somewhere off in the distance thunder rattled, the unmistakable smell of electricity in the air. he looked out the canopy window at the small river flowing by.
a full day was spent on that water. wading across its shallow sections, crawling over its logjams, walking atop its rounded river stones and through the thick underbrush of its banks. peering into its tannin stained waters.
casting to its rising fish.
his face was sunburnt. his hair dirty. his lips chapped. his back sore. his hands were dry and cracked and smelled of thyme and fish. his shins were scratched and bruised. his shirt reeked of sweat. his feet were tender. one ankle throbbed.
his eyes were tired.
and he wore the beatific smile of someone wholly content.