The beginning of fall

Quiet swishing from my PFD as the paddle passes left and right, biting the water, pushing towards any random destination today. Rain pattering all around me, washing sweat from my face leaving a salty taste on the edge of my lips. The rain helps now, knocking the heat down. We round a bend and there on the shore, a Blue Heron scoping the water. A doe and her two yearlings watching us, twitching ears, but no signs of distress. One of the yearlings steps towards the shore line, but mama twitches her tail as warning and the little one stops. Still no signs of fear, just caution.

The maples aren’t turning yet, but the poplar are and I see a few oak are starting to shift shades of green. In another month, if we have a hard frost, all of them will be bare and the landscape will take on that somber, almost bleak look.

Paddling season isn’t over; it never really quits, I just change apparel needed. Out come the wetsuits, drytop and fleecewear; in the box go the quickdry shirts and shorts. Booties instead of barefeet or sandals, pogies on the paddle, and out we go again. Paddling in the cold is sometimes my favorite time as the quiet and solitude are far more intense. Lake time isn’t drowned out by powerboat noise, or the thump, thump, thump, of someone blasting thier stereo.

Like today, rainy, and not just a drizzle, and the boats are staying close to their slips, or on their trailers. Here we are with water dripping off our noses, watching life that has no clue, nor care, about Trumps or Bidens or dollar-bills or even utility bills. The little one just wants mama to explain what kind of ugly duck that is out on the water.

It puts a different perspective on ‘the real world’. One almost doesn’t want to go back: just keep paddling, the river knows the way.

Advertisement