Taking a Risk

 Soft grey sky hangs over a lake greyer still.  It is mid-morning, still and quiet on this grey morning.  Even the bugs are stilled or at least discouraged a bit by the gently falling rain.  Such a light drizzle softening the edges of the tree-covered cliffs rather than obscuring them.   And in the middle of the lake, a bright red canoe glides slowly, almost soundlessly through the glass-like water.

 We had gone to camp for a work weekend, leaving our children behind.  It was to be a weekend of work and relaxation, an island of calm in the middle of craziness.  Sunday dawned wet and overcast.  After two days of using our gifts in different areas, we finally had a couple of hours to spend together.  The rack of canoes had caught our attention earlier, but now it was raining.

 Back and forth we went, deciding first to go and then changing our minds again.  Was it wise to get chilled before a long drive back?  I made up my mind, determined that we would head out into the wet slightly chilly world in just our bathing suits.  My husband was less than enthusiastic, especially while wading in the icy water.  I almost changed  my mind as I waded out to enter the canoe.  Swimming was definitely out!

 Soon we were out on the lake, gliding through the grayness.  It wasn't sad or somber, like some grey days  are.  Rather it was a place of peace.  Looking down, I noticed a flash of white, a shell on the bottom.  We paddled slowly, Steve giving his novice canoer paddling tips.  There was such peace out in the middle of the lake with rain falling like mist.

 As we began to head back to camp, something magical happened.  Out of the mist, a loon appeared.  Paddles lifted, we rested while watching the black and white bird up close.  Neither of us were sure if we'd seen a loon before in the wild, certainly not that close.  All too soon, it dove.  We thought perhaps that we had lost it.  Long moments passed before the loon reappeared and in the direction we were heading.  Quietly and slowly, we began to shadow the loon.  He would surface, pause for a minute or two and then dive again.  Each time resurfacing in the direction we were heading.  We followed the magnificent bird until finally our courses diverged.  As we waved farewell,  I noticed the loon's mate on our other side gliding serenely on.  Words fail to describe how perfectly peaceful those moments were.

 Reaching the camp, we docked the canoe and headed in slightly cold and wet, but oh so joyful.  The memory of our canoe ride stayed with us as we dried off, packed up and then headed south again.  Canoeing in the rain was well worth the chilled feet that stayed with me the rest of the day.

 After a brief hiatus, rejoining the Imperfect Prose community: