out here

Out here in the middle of the lake the sun feels much warmer. Maybe it’s because it’s reflected up from the water and kind of doubled onto you? There’s a breeze but it’s slight, so to feel cooler I hang my legs over the side of the kayak and let my feet dangle just under the surface of the water. The water is cooler, it’s not fully summer yet. In summer the few inches of surface water on the lake are bathwater warm.

Now and then the breeze dies completely and the water is glass and I try to be as still as I possibly can so as not to disturb it and ruin the smooth reflective flatness all around me.

I paddled myself to the middle and am just drifting. Sometimes the wind blows me towards shore but right now, when it’s glassy and unmoving, I just sort of do a slow twirling in place.

Out here you can ugly cry in peace and solitude. The turtles that pop their heads up occasionally don’t judge, they’re too busy warming their cold blood in the sun or looking for bugs to eat or whatever turtles eat. You can think about souls leaving this earth and children leaving the nest and the slow movement of all things.

You can laugh, too. You can even mix the laughter and tears into a powerful cocktail which, were I a bartender, I might call “Healing Waters.” Things move on. Forward maybe, but definitely moving regardless. Change is constant. That kind of bullshit.

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