almost apologetically,

she pushes through the waters,

my old green canoe,

leaving trails of gentle ripples

in the memory of our journey,

our exploration of this reverent hush

and this mystic air that rises in moving morning mist.

with each reach of my humble paddle,

she first considers

but then she yields and chooses then to follow,

in glides of elegant simplicity,

slowly, slowly, surely on,

from the places we’ve long left behind,

to those places we have yet to find,

that sheltered cove,

that dancing fire,

that pure, pure rest beneath the stars,

to catch hold once more of what once was,

to share the cool, cool breath of the living wild,

this we do,

my canoe and i,

in our endless journey on.


The End

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