The sun was poised just under the lip of the hills. We pushed off, the water now transparent green instead of oily silver, and whisked downstream, Joe dipping the oars only enough to keep the raft in the current. Around the first bend we slipped into bright morning sunlight that painted the river in slashes of orange with purple shadows. Tufts of steam curled up from the surface. The oars licked the water. We huddled into our down coats and turned our faces, eyes closed, to the sunlight like lizards.
