After her meander, she soon spotted him sitting in the tall grass with an unlit smoke hanging off his lip, facing the bottleneck where the narrow little creek began to come together on itself and collect into a pond. A dam edged the flow at the far side of the water and a fishladder sat right alongside this spillway.
Salmon spawned and climbed there. But not yet, as fall was only now making the scene.
She wonders what he is seeing. What made him sit down in the first place?
His back faced her and yet she knew he was gone. Mentally absconding down some path, having been beckoned by guazy spirits within his imagination. She liked to watch his corporeal form when the immaterial consumed his attention.
It was the way his neck worked. Parallel thrusts of unnoticed nuchral rigidity held his head fast and at its present attention. The slope delineated by neck becoming shoulders.
She considered breaking his reverie, but chose to keep still in the moment with him and bask in the felicific tension.
In the suspension of outcome;
the bit before the finale;
the desire for denouement.