Paddle dips into clear, still lake

Paddle dips into clear, still lake
Pulled through,
Then drawn up again
I kneel in the canoe’s hull
Bowing reverently to all around
With each broad stroke I take
Paddle rests on the gunnel
As water swirls below
And drips steadily from the paddle’s wooden edge
Each drop after the other
Forms a silver thread
To connect me completely
With each drop’s ripple
Gliding silently through the mist
Distant call of the lone loon
Kisses my ears “I am home”
Pine bows at water’s edge
Each branch emerald protector
Fallen logs lie half submerged
Near the shore,
Thinly veiled threat
In the stillness, I pass through
Just as the wind passes
Over the lake,
Through each pine needle
And beyond

Published by Leigh-Anne Fraser

writer, poet, photographer, artist, illustrator, knitter,friend and fine pancake flipper

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