Each stroke sends passion flying. An exuberance of current
with the drop drop drop of joy splashing into the river that 
greets and flows goodbye. 

A spray of elation brings shivers under goosebumps and
a warming embrace. The back burns hot and skin 
turns red but the driving force is strong. 

The final thrust is yet to come, but come it will, spent in a 
primitive burst of elation and release.

The end draws near as nature prepares her reception.  
Impossible it is to restrain the expressions that threaten to 
burst naturally from behind tight lips, furrowed brow, and 
pounding heart.

With a few hard strokes and a final thrust the canoe 
grounds upon gravelly shore. 

Excitement builds as the forest opens and the campsite is 
there and the whole world disappears but for that which 
is seen, heard, felt, smelled, and touched. Effort is 
rewarded with a pleasing tiredness and satisfaction. Sore 
muscles are restored and the mind renewed as old 
worries flee, replaced by purity and renewal. 

I am alone with the timeless echo my fathers heard before me.



Image: 
Little Spencer Mountain and Spencer Pond. Kokadjo, Maine. 
Photo by the author. 2016