I go and meet a couple of friends by the river—one a boy of eight or nine; the other night he was interested in spotting birds and fish and crabs and rabbits nearby. Tonight, just as excited to see me, but in between he’d also met a boy of fourteen with rod and reel and lure and crabbing net. The fourteen-year old looked down into the depths and saw more than I did—saw blue mana crabs, saw mullet, was particularly tuned to flathead. When I couldn’t focus any longer, I  sometimes called out a dolphin from time to time, the jumping of some whitebait—things that left the water and rose above the surface line—but the teenager saw all below this, his neck permanently bent. Where I saw heron, he saw blowfish, the flashing blue manna, the shooting tail of the flattest head. Where I lived above the surface, he lived below the waterline. This fisher boy lived in it—lived under the surface—and didn’t need to try…where others did.