Dawn breaks. You wake to the low mumble of
groggy campers and the smell of hot coffee.
Dew quietly drips from your tent and
rays of sunlight play across your face
as you lie in your sleeping bag,drinking in the stillness.
You stretch, muscles sore from the day before, and rise to meet the day.
—
As you paddle, man’s monuments pass in a neverending show.
Grand as they are, they are eclipsed by
the power of the river that carries you onward.
The river that ties you to your new family.
The river that carves its way through the earth,
tracing ancient pathways through soil and stone.
Today a breeze blows at your back, pushing you foward.
The paddle’s blade shimmers as it cuts through the air, then back to the water.
—
You rest now.
Eighty canoes and kayaks wait patiently on the shore, eager for the dawn.
Dick Lake recites “The Cremation of Sam McGee”
by firelight as a guitar gently strums in the distance.
A chill hangs in the air,
forcing you a little closer to the glowing embers.
The day’s stories are told and retold,
each time sparking a little brighter.
At last you bid everyone goodnight, return to your tent,
and sleep as one who has truly lived.