Catch. Pull. Feather. Recover.
The oars creak, and protest a bit.
Catch. Pull.
The feel of ash on palm, a bit rough, but soothing.
Feather. Recover.
A gentle slush from someplace up forward.
Catch. Pull.
The circles follow along obediently. Each a whole unto itself.
Feather.
Satisfying. But, so, so fleeting. Each circle.
Recover.
There’s the little wake we leave. It spreads. And, disappears.
Catch. Pull. Feather. Recover.
It’s what we do. Some, rapid, with purpose.
Catch.
Some, never quite in rhythm, never quite satisfied.
Pull.
Some, in what appears to be random, but delighted disconnection.
Feather.
The pauses come to last as long as the strokes. The boat slows. The pond grows quiet.
Catch. Pull. Feather. Recover.
Always someone to follow. Someone to continue on. It’s what we do.
With love,
Dan Rogers |