Dawn Paddle

Thinking of a good friend lost.

“It is not down in any map; true places never are.”  
 Herman Melville

At dawn’s arrival with early summer mist rising above the silent slips
He set his kayak into the lake’s still water.
Water smooth as Saran Wrap tight on a jar all shining in early Sun.
He pushed off from the shore and began the gentle rhythm of the paddle.
Lean forward and in on right, pull back and twist, lean forward and in on left.
The craft made a widening “V” behind punctuated by drops from the 
Lifted paddle creating widening “O’s” in the water streaming alongside.
He had come to this place seeking a memory.

We all do that, but we never paddle in the same water.
The current, weather, flows and time ensure that every
Stroke of the paddle is as unique as when the art of water 
Travel was first invented.

Memory is fed by place and motion, by smell and song.
A window rolled down at Spring’s first warmth and the smell of 
Fresh cut grass can send one back scrolling through the ages
To a back-seat in Mom’s car headed to the dentist.
“Bye Bye Miss American Pie” comes on the radio, and one is sent
Back to unrepeatable youth.

But the memory he sought was a feeling, a feeling of friendship and joy
Forged on the waters of rivers, lakes and bays through many years.
A gnawing loss of a friend had clouded over that memory.
Was it a mistaken read in the line?
A stroke not strong enough to enter the chute?
He cannot know and never will but the inexorable rise
Of mountain flow behind had pushed life into an irreversible
Suffocating cavern of darkness.
Gone in a moment, like the ending of a beautiful song.

So now at dawn’s lifting and the sound of engines firing up 
In the distance, he paddles forward into the rising Sun,
Knowing that somewhere, somehow, the knife edge of the paddle
Cutting the water unites the spirits of the lost
For one last adventure…one last song.

Bit of a melancholic moment…cleaning out a couple of old notebooks and stumbled on some lines I started to scribble on the way to a tragic funeral of a friend I lost. Killed way too young in a tragic accident paddling in Equador. RIP P.R. - we will paddle together again.