Floating Out In That Summer

There is a quiet lake that I float upon,
(floating out in that summer.)

I can hear the gentle clap of it against the boat, as I and she, rock to and fro beneath the sun, I smell the breeze coming off the dry pines and sage , that silent calling , inviting me to get up off the bow, hoist all the sails and make full speed in almost zero wind back to the shore. In hills that have baked in the day’s sun, there is some path she’d like me to see, pungent and spicy, beneath dry juniper and cedar. Explore her natural semi arid landscapes? Led forth by a little jack rabbit, or kept tabs on by a soaring red tailed hawk. Yes these are agents of nature! saying, “We are one and the same. Your intelligence is a fine thing but look at me soar on a thermal!”
But will it entice me away? I lay happy in the warm sun. Here surrounded in cool tones of the lake.
For now I’m between places , Becalmed.
Stalemated. But satisfied. Will She send a thermal down from those hills to fetch us, I think not, she’s given me the hmmmf!

I hear her heart, rumbling in the beyond,…Here, climbing unimaginably in those great white clouds. How often might we hear such things? The intense sunlight dims slightly, a cold shadow arm reaches out, and what was a clear reflection of mountains yonder, is slightly dulled. A breeze comes, (the canvas gives and crackles), I get up and raise sail. (Whilst behind me, to the West, the breadth of whole lake is dark though I still see far away to the South, those bright sun filled spaces and clouds.)

Twenty minutes. I imagine. In twenty minutes the whole lake will be tossing around in a (white capped) fury.

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