They're what I see when I close my eyes. The red orange, the red orange of a fish's tail in the flooded grass. The top corner's out of the water, turning with the fish, turning as the fish turns, almost waving like a flag as the fish searches the bottom for its meal. That fish searches, and 30 yards from him there's another, and another. There's just enough of a breeze to keep the no see 'ems away, but not too much to send your fly line 20 degrees off target if you don't compensate, not too much to render the skiff practically un-pollable.