Fishermen’s nets hung on great stripped tree
trunks buried among the rocks at the edge of the
river (rocks like those that, in the river,
created the rapids). At one end of the cleared
area were thatched huts; the place had become a
fishing village again. The sinking sun shot
through layers of grey cloud; the water turned
from brown to gold to red to violet. And always
there was the steady noise of the rapids,
innumerable little cascades of water over rock.
The darkness came; and sometimes the rain came
as well, and to the sound of the rapids was
added the sound of rain on water.

– from A Bend in the River by V. S. Naipaul