Deep in calm – the walk

Newton’s first movement law establishes that a moving object with remaining moving unless an external force acts on an external force. For me, as a moving object, the exterior force was consumed by a whole roast chicken for lunch in a parking lot of a grocery store.

He had been pushing great days for hard terrain for two weeks, and needed a break. In the pond that afternoon, I found it. The dragonflies buzzed, broke and persecuted themselves. The soft waves broke a clear reflection of the blue sky, the white clouds and the perennial leaf forest with the strange yellow or red tree. There is almost no breeze, very close to complete silence.

They had reached the rocks here and there along the shore. I found one that I liked. Once painted green, now a gray mottled with scratches and abolish. In the grass next to him, I found cracked wooden pallets and orange PFD, faded with sun and full of small holes. Many ponds had passed and lakes already with ships that were left at the edges. The hikers said you could get them if you wanted. There were no locks, or names, no one around. Even so, when I left the mud to the ankle and in the warm back of the canoe, I wondered. Would I find myself shouted by an indignant owner? Or approached by an officer with a stern face with a badge? Or maybe just frowned by the place that knew better than not being a taboo? I took a risk.

I remitted a slow return of the pond, keeping myself as close as I could without running. When I found a rock, the aluminum container projected the Metallic sound! And the echo would carry. With these exceptions, I found that I could easily slide through the water of only a few inches deep without touching the bottom. Clarity was amazing. Even where the background would be too deep to stop, I could see the soft dance of weeds and herbs in sunlight, and the small fish entering and coming out of the shadow.

I took the center of the pond and leaned the palette against my seat. The sun was wonderfully hot on my skin, and gave my shirt some rounds of soaking and twisting before extending it in the arch to dry. When the breeze got up for a moment, the wind wind wind pushed. From time to time I listened to a fish jumping, but I never returned to look time to see. The dragonflies kept their acrobatic, approaching to investigate and then move away again. Occasionally, the helmet whistled while slowly crawling on an underwater plant that had reached the surface. Otherwise, I was silent.

I had not handled a canoe in years, but I still loved it. My mom is from Maine. When it grew, we came to visit the summers, the seven left the sticky car after a long driving day. The first thing I would always do was run and jump into the lake completely dressed, whenever someone was looking. He was never so fun to do without a audience. We spend much of our time paddling in canoes in lakes or ponds like this, giving names to everything. «Blueberry Island», «Glasswater Lake», «Frog Inlet», «Rock Island» and «Island Rock», to name a few.

I put the palette on the gun under my shoulders and reclined it. Up feet, head down, stretched in the sun. My water bottle was vertically at the bottom, the pond so calm that it never leaned. I didn’t know the time. I didn’t need to do it. I closed my eyes.

I could feel that the trip came to an end, the long walk is located with its natural purpose. I wanted to continue pushing the miles in general, I was enjoying that, but I couldn’t maintain this rhythm. My mind, body and soul were exhausted. Happy, but exhausted. I needed to rest. The pond gave me that.

The sun sank lower, the afternoon cooler. Of the trees, it was called an invisible Bluejay. The dragonflies are still with each other, coupling and turning the air together. My stomach told me that I needed dinner. I still needed to prepare for the night. It was time to continue with my duties for me. Slowly, I raised the palette and began to stroke the shore.

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