Into the Twilight

The paddle slices through the thin film of silt that floats like a gossamer veil over the surface of the still water: the evidence of the other sojourners who have recently passed, stirring the bed below, pocked with holes, where little fish wait through their adolescence in the shelter of the prop roots that stand along the shore as I pass. It hardly makes a sound as the little benign whirlpool disturbs the smooth surface and clinging drops lose their grip and fall like brackish kisses on my skin as I alternate my stroke. 


My hands grip the now slippery pole and I wish I had remembered my gloves, but even that tiny regret can't mar the joy of the peaceful solitude that surrounds me and nourishes my soul, rejuvenating my wounded heart and breathing new life and clarity into my exhausted mind. My shoulders ache with the sweet twinge of exertion for its own sake and for the repeated act of pulling my weight through the water with only this paddle, over little waves picked up by the breeze that now joins me on this watery trail. 


The diurnal song of the wild things now transforms into the serenade of the impending dusk as the cicada sing and crabs click and tiny fish jump to evade some larger predator and punctuate the melody with their splashes.  The Sun approaches his evening home and the peregrine pair float above on the fading thermals he created, looking for a last meal before retiring into the twilight that starts now to transform the sky from pale blue to gold. 


And I, alone and filled with the wonder of such beauty and tranquility, ponder the dichotomy of this stillness that teems with activity, and watch the light dance on the surface of the inlet as I slow to a crawl and become as silent as death. The crabs now dance and dart about on the bank and alternately are lords of all they survey and startled refugees, scampering at the realization that they are observed in their erstwhile crustacean kingdom. 


I breathe the slightly sulfurous perfume of the salt air, inhaling deeply, savoring the cleanness and the memories flood back: of youthful days that seemed endless and innumerable, as this one now wanes and becomes part of the pattern of a tapestry of years; and I wait for the gloaming and draw out each moment and every nuance and sear it into my memory.