I can almost here the smooth sound of my wooden paddle
as it glides through the first lake on the first day of the trip I will be taking in two weeks. My hand jitters in my sleep as it dreamily senses a bite at the end of the line. My back is trying to get every last second of comfort that it has left until I leave. My heart waits patiently to be reunited with old friends, whom I used to beat down the same trails and paths of my youth, only to diverge as the grass grew on the trails over the years.
As I look forward to making new quiet momemts of my soul, I reservedly hope, and pray, that the time spent will be without injury, either to the body or the soul. And maybe we will have the first year with no bitterness as we return home.

Posted by Phineas Bogg on June 11, 2001 at 00:35