Shallow Waters Are Noisy Quotes

Everybody has a chapter they don't read out loud. Shallow waters are noisy; deep waters are silent

As Siri walked along that oh-so-noisy riverbank on his way to work, he saw a pelican gliding above the surface of the water. It was a marvelous bird, proud and resourceful, and he imagined how it would taste with a little chili paste and fresh yams. Hungry people made poor environmentalists.

Aware her appearance was nothing short of scandalous, Camille bounded over branches and fallen pine needles to the shield of her horse. Ira’s whistle pierced the air. “You should’a warned us you weren’t dressed, love. Though I’m not entirely sorry to see you in your unwhisperables.” She grabbed the blanket from the back of her horse and wrapped herself in it. Oscar appeared from around the bend, four pike speared on a stick. She watched him stride through the water just behind Ira. The muscle of his pale chest, stomach, and arms was enough to make her forget her clothing was still yards away near the water’s edge. Camille faced the forest as he and Ira approached the shallows. She listened to them slosh out of the water and counted off a minute as they pulled on their trousers and shirts. “Finished. Your innocence won’t be spoiled if you look now,” Ira called. She turned and saw Oscar had come up to the other side of her horse. He didn’t seem to know what to do with his eyes; they met hers, lowered to the blanket she held tight around her chest, and then focused on the horse’s stringy black mane. He held her dress over the saddle, half looking at her, half trying to be gentlemanly. But when she thanked him and tried to take it, he held on. “What is it?” he asked, then released the dress. Camille tightened the blanket around her chest. “You look frightened. Did something happen?” She hadn’t realized she’d looked upset. “It’s nothing. A deer just startled me, that’s all.” She nodded toward the woods. He backed up from the horse, his eyes lifting to her bare shoulders and then away. Ira grabbed the rifle from his horse and sprang for the trees. “When? Which way did it go?” “Ira Beam, you are not going to shoot an innocent animal,” she said, shaking out her dress. The Australian leaped into the forest. “I’ll meet you upriver!” he shouted, and then he was gone, his noisy tear into the woods enough to scatter tree ants, let alone any remaining game.

He made his way down to the creek, down a five-foot muddy bank to a band of sand too narrow to lie down on. He had to force his way through honeysuckle vines and the branches of low wild cherry trees, so his approach was clumsy, noisy. As he slid to his feet, a great blue heron croaked loudly just off to his left and at the same time rose out and flew away — complaining — to land on the far side of the creek. From there, the bird stared at Jeff. Jeff stared back, not moving, except for the smile on his mouth. The bird decided Jeff was harmless and paced slowly upstream, its attention on the shallow water where prey might be found. The long stilty legs, the long curved neck, the awkward perfect body moved inland, away from Jeff. He watched it. He watched it not find anything to eat, watched it come to a rest and blend into the stillness of a dead tree that had fallen out into the creek. The two men were still inside when Jeff rejoined them. The Professor looked at his face and said, “You like it.” Jeff nodded. “I saw a blue heron.” “They’re common around here,” the agent said. “You-all birdwatchers?” But the Professor remembered and understood what Jeff meant. “You take that as a sign from the gods?” Jeff nodded.