Elbow Lake, two boards, a distant fishing boat catching the late light, if not fish.
Water does something to my body, to my chest and solar plexus. Drops me down, maybe soothes the cracks, reminds me of depth and smoothness and of being held.
The water was a challenge at first, and that was fine. It felt good to dig in with the paddle, sit back in my hips for purchase. It felt good to talk, and to not talk when effort was needed or when wind carried away the words.
It felt good to miss nothing, to be present and pleased. To float, to be carried, to be one participant in a large and constant thing.
The lake was calm when we turned the boards around. We loaded them up and talked by the cars until the sky went from blue to pink-and-purple to a neutral gray that was almost dark. Until the lake evaporated from our skin and rose up to continue its magic of changing form but always being itself.