As the evening’s protective cloud cover retreats over the horizon in the face of an approaching cold front marching resolutely forward, and as the rising sun’s first rays claw their way over a bluff to offer tender comfort to their lovers, now bereft of their flaming fall adornments, the deceptively still surface of the river, just waking in the warm embrace of its adoring channel, greets the quiet December morning, marred only by a small accumulation of debris that has slipped its head above the water like a muskrat testing the air as it searches for breakfast.