Early
Between my feet on the yellow kevlar
the dog is curled on top of my extra fleece.
Afternoon is just a smudge
across the silhouetted horizon
and the briefest notion of sunset.
Racing the coming wind we paddle fast
over the surface;
reflective calm skies laughing.
Feeling the lingering cold of winter
with each paddle stroke
as water clear and cold as ice
drips and flings and runs
onto hands and an occasional
cheek.
A disquieted beaver slaps
from across the lake
and the sound rolls over us
like the tide
of every old trip we’ve been on in this canoe.
Soon the ripples will reach our wake.
My hands itch for the warmth
of the campfire.
©Timothy James Stouffer 04292024 All Rights Reserved #elystreetpoet Ely, MN