Paddling Solo
July 31 2022
The wind calmed
and a humid heaviness settled in.
Energy
shifting from kinetic, to pent-up;
a storm in the air,
waiting
gathering strength
taking its own good time.
But rather than the swagger
of undisputed power
an arrogant man would show,
my impression of the weather gods
was imperial indifference;
where power is absolute
and utterly at will.
No hurry
no showing-off,
no theatrical displays
of male dominance.
The gurgling sound
as the canoe's tapered bow
cutting through the water,
the wooden paddle
almost silent
as it slipped alongside;
a smoothly measured stroke,
short, precise, effortless.
The setting sun slanted in,
glancing off the flat grey lake
and through the haze,
like a badly glazed mirror
with clouded glass.
Normally, this time of day
the low sun would have blinded me,
barrelling in
reflecting up.
The dazzling blues and greens and golds
of the small land-locked lake
would have saturated my senses.
But now
the light was even, monotone
easy on the eyes.
It felt like drifting
through infinite time,
where space had collapsed
to this single canoe
and the water it was passing through.
A sense of urgency
suffused with peace;
the coming storm
the state of calm.
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