Artful Wake

I love the wake my canoe makes

gliding out across the lake

these early mornings when the water

is calm and smooth, reflecting the sky

and the shore surrounding, reflecting me.

My paddle breaks the surface and folds

the water back on itself, a slight arc

rippling in my trail, the soft hush

of wood caressing water like sand

brushed back by a tidal pull.

Behind me, the water closes in, smooths

itself once again and erases the path

I leave behind even as I lift my paddle

to repeat this rhythm of careful strokes,

tiny droplets shimmering on its edge

or falling back like rain, an inaudible splash

lightly heard in the silence of this early morning,

propelling myself softly, calmly, gliding

out across the lake, reflected and reflecting:

Narcissus’ soul transformed, alive in nature.