The Kayak

A beautiful day to kayak.

A day filled with memories.

My kayak, securely fastened to its resting place, my paddling partner, always ready for more.

Carried from water to rack and back—how many times, I wonder? The stories it must keep.

The air stirs gently, breaking the stillness, harmonizing with the scent of seaweed baking in the sun.

I look back at my footprints, momentary impressions carved into the sand—fragile, fleeting, soon to be erased by the rising tide.

A stone calls to me. I pick it up, compelled. Skip, skip, skip—it dances across the water before sinking to its quiet shelter.

A crab, the titan, nods—its watchful gaze sharp as it skitters, making its rounds to and fro its watery castle.

Dip, dip, dip—my paddle moves, a silent sentinel tracing its path.

A gull cries out—its mournful song, searching to fulfill its endless cycle of hunger.

Gliding along, a solitary moment—the quiet, peaceful momentum across the watery mirror.

If a passerby saw me, were they able to distinguish the reflection?

Paddling front to back, back to front, I turn toward home.

Fish, ever vigilant, silently guard, salute as I approach. Offering their best wishes along my watery journey.

Dip, dip, dip—my paddle follows the rhythm of my heart, a silent pausator pounding its drum.

A crab, holding its shield as I approach, momentarily blocks my path. The titan stands before me—then continues its rounds, letting me pass.

Walking in the wet sand, cool beneath my feet, I drag a stick behind me.

I see the delicate imprint of a lizard’s tail, a path soon to be erased by the lapping waves.

The water’s silent cry, endlessly calls out to me, smooth as glass ready to be broken.

How many times, how many days, have we journeyed together?

I think of all our journeys, the things we’ve seen. If only it could break its silence, the tales it would tell.

My muted friend rests, always eager for another watery journey.

A day to remember.

A beautiful day to kayak.