“What sort are they?”

“Mullet.”

We watch the water. It is still in the early light beneath a clear sky tinged with gold.

“There they go.” We watch as fish after fish leaps from the water, crashing down with a thumping boom. After a few moments all is still.

“What are they doing?”

“Booming.”

“Why?”

“No one knows. For feeding. For breeding. Maybe for fun.”

We drift across the lake. My eyes never leave the surface, waiting for the next eruption.

I don’t tell him how much I like it here. And he doesn’t ask.