Live expectantly; God’s signature on events is timing.” The late-afternoon breeze blew up the creek, and the leaves whipped around their packs across the way. Wind waves radiated mini breakers, splashing on Brenda’s ankles. And the golden trout streaked from under the shadow of the fir to the shelter of the deep undercut banks. Sam took off his hat and sat on the bank with his White’s still in the water. His voice had an edge of urgency. “But this isn’t a sermon. This is your life, kids. The timing