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Full Moon January
2002 |
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By George
Sluker |
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Orion stood over us. Directly over us, casting a cloudy veil from his outstretched arms, filling the entire sky to all horizons. He allowed Taurus and Jupiter to peek occasionally at our progress. But no other stars would he allow to look, nor us to see. The rising moon though, would not be constrained, and through folds in the veil, lit a silver path for us to follow. “Let’s paddle the moon beams” she said. We glided on, our paddles silently blending into and emerging again from the ripples of the bay. Her voice carried a song. The tune I know not, but it belonged to the night, as a choir to a church. She was one with her element and at peace with her world. Her silhouette danced with the moon as it danced with the clouds. I glanced around now, not to check for safety, but to drink, like a parched traveler, all that surrounded me. Heaven could not have a more pleasant scene, nor sleep a more beautiful dream. I drifted in and out of consciousness. With each stroke of the paddle the water withdrew a torture from my soul, and in the void, the wind feed me a fresh spirit. In time, the geese squawked at our approach. Soon, our bows would kiss the sandy beach, we would tread lightly back into the world of man, and we would go our separate ways. Wise men, those who know, would chronicle the record warmth of the day and herald some event they deemed notable. Who are they to know? Why paddle during winter. Why paddle at night. Why paddle open water. Paupers are they who can not know, and fools are they who would not learn. Could heaven have a more pleasant scene, or sleep a more beautiful dream? Go Paddle.
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