We enter the rapid
off balance.
The current
more than my paddle
sets our course,
and chooses our fate.
A fallen tree
reaching up like a beggar
nudges the side of our canoe.
An observing raven
flies from its branches
loudly calling out its displeasure,
as the river’s icy water envelopes us
quickly and completely.
Rising to the surface
my wife and myself,
our canoe and our gear,
scatter like raindrops
on a freshly waxed car hood,
gripped only by gravity.
3 comments:
I was waiting for some exciting white water adventure only to find out your waxed car did you in.
Sorry to disappoint you Pam. That one was written for a writing prompt that had some pretty tight parameters, including leaving out the beginning and end of the story... But if it makes the poem any better, that canoe trip ended with a severed bicep tendon and a trip to the surgeon. How's that for exciting ;) And no worries... The arm is healed, and getting stronger every month. I'll be paddle-ready again by the spring!
OMG, Randy! That's awful...your poor arm. Get well. Take care of yourself. Glad we're back to blogging again. I miss all of you.
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