A Kayak Day

5:15. The sun is not quite up yet, but I am awake. I slip on a pair of shorts and T-shirt. I stumble out he door, eyes still cloudy with sleep. Looking to the river, I can see it is a kayak day. Back inside, I pick up a bucket hat and rubber water shoes.

The river is flat as plate glass. I have the paddle an d life vest from the back porch, vision clearing as I walk.

At the end of the lane is the kayak rack by the beach. I slide the boat out. It’s heavier every year. In the salty water up to my ankles, I lay it down, the stern resting lightly on the rocky shore until I can get in.

One leg, than my backside in the seat, Swinging the other leg, trying not to fall in the river. I push off with a slight scraping protest from the wet rocks. A bit of fog on the water, I dip the paddle in a gentle continuous process, pulling myself past the moored boats towards the channel. Humans are asleep. A deer is feeding on the shore in the marsh. A fish hawk is also up early. The osprey plunges into the saltwater in search of breakfast. She comes up empty, prepares to try again.

I lay the paddle across the kayak’s cockpit. The world underneath the boat is alive with creatures but you’d never know. Just the occasional ripple when a fish comes to the surface for breakfast?

I watch the sun come up. I paddle back towards the beach, the sun retreats below the treeline. My effort to hold it below the horizon is no use, It continues it’s inexorable journey towards the sky.

I turn the kayak back towards home, past the channel marker, Red, Right, Returning.

It’s a new day, and I have places to be.