The deep white fog rolled into the bay like a tidal wave, Covering it in a deep sacred shroud of white, Then the clouds opened, and the rain fell as if it was poured from some heavenly sea, In the distance, a Great Blue Heron calls out.
He stalks his prey through the fog, As he moves, raindrops slide down his smooth long gray feathers, And the deep mud of the bay pulls down his feet with every step.
His movements are like that of the ocean, slow and steady, Only to be followed by something powerful and unstoppable, He strikes a violent stab at the ground, Then disappears fish scales gleaming from his beak into the fog.
The warm July sun trickles down through the clouds, Kissing the clear clam waters of the lake, My kayak cuts through the shimmering scene, I float on along the deep green marsh grass, Listening to the sounds of birds, frogs, and bugs all chortling about, I pause my paddling to take in the wonder of the early evening.
Then sitting on a branch a Kingfisher! No two! My fellow paddlers all shout in glee, As the two majestic birds sail off into the sky.
That’s when I realized there are lessons to be learned from the seat of a kayak, Lessons that can only be taught on lake during an evening paddle.