Our canoe cuts through the water.
Though the water is over-taken with lily-pads and weeds,
we take the clear, thin channels through.
Our guide comments on small matters
as we move along.
The lake is calm and quiet,
and you can hear the water lapping against the canoe.
We're up north Wisconsin near Canada
and the country is thick and green.
Along the banks, Nature hums and buzzes.
I sit back and cast over and over,
the line unwinding from my reel in a silent zing.
A small wooden paddle moves us along
through a shallow connecting water
strewn with flowing willows
slanting in the wind.
Looking into the dark water,
you see slow moving weeds
where the overhead sun lays down.
The sun begins to set
orange and red on the dark, still water.
Our wooden canoe glides along.
All the future that lies ahead
is halted in talk of the past.
We are just sunburnt fishermen
tired in the weavings of life.
God, I haven't been out in a canoe for twenty years! My dad and I used to go when I was a kid. The sound of a paddle moving through water is one of the most beautiful and soothing in the world. I can't believe we've lost that; voluntarily let go of it. My dad just retired. There are canoes to be rented a ten minute drive from where I live. I should bring him along, don't you think? Thanks for reminding me of all this. Also, the last stanza is awesome.
ReplyDeleteYou you definately go with your dad, for old times sake. Thanks for the comment!
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