Saturday morning.
Down by the river.
Descend the bank.
Drag the canoe.
Don't slip
and fall in the mud.
Step in
the center of the canoe.
Begin.
Paddle.
Slowly.
Listen.
Breathe.
See.
The grasses above
eye level
move.
The river
curves
out of sight
and into new
vistas. The bright
green of willows
breathes under
the call of blackbird,
the swoop of swallow,
sand hill cranes
standing like statues,
fat black snake
coiled in a snag,
the flight of the broad
winged blue heron.
Rumors
of the bald eagle.
Other canoes
come and go
rounding the bends
in pilgrimage:
twenty seven souls.
Splashing. Racing. Pirating. Sweating. Sweet. Swim. Water
curves
and ripples around
the paddle and under
the bow. Friends
discover together-
ness on the river
hidden away
from roads
in God's grandeaur.
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