First Cast

A lake in February, a fisherman who has been there since five and mist that took the far shore away. The photographs are almost grey on purpose.

Almost nothing

The exposure sits a stop over what the meter wants. Mist is white; let it be. The figure, the rod and the line are the only dark things, and they are enough.

I did not speak to him until the light had gone. He had caught nothing and did not mind. We stood there a while longer for the same reason.

The series is six frames, one per cast, the mist a little thinner in each. The last one shows the far shore. I prefer the first.