Two degree Celsius, mid October, just the time to buy a couple of buns at the bakery in the village.
It is 8 c'clock when I arrive at the parking slot in the woods, as shown on the fishing permit. The lungs fill up with
the scent of the humus and the morning haze. With waders on I walk along the path that leads me to the river.
On the little bridge at the end of the path, I get to see the water.