Messing About In Boats

A little pond turned mirror from the burning leaves and clearest sun. Vibrant steaks all across the water disturbed so little by the prow of the boat as I push it through the leaves into the water. No one anywhere to see my smooth transition from land to boat; to see the smooth glide towards the middle. Too bad.

I'm thankful for the mitts I wore to protect my hands against the chill in the occasional breeze. They don't succeed at protecting my fingers from the splinters in my board-turned-paddle, but that is not what they were intended for. I easily manage to get them out with my teeth after a little sucking.

Out in the middle. I'm endeavoring to focus on my studies but tend to fiddle with getting the boat right where I want it instead...with testing the water with my finger tips...with watching the ripples paint across the lake.

The time is well spent. Soon it will be dark and all will be inside working on papers, so I continue to figure out how to do a correction stroke despite the awkward shape of the board. I almost succeed.

On only a slightly different note, this is how I know a package is from home for sure: it comes in a shoe box for paddle shoes. Yes. I belong in my family. The LORD is good.