Gliding through Time

 I go out on the pond in my kayak shortly before the sun is to set. I paddle out of our cove and turn south towards the stream. An eight-minute paddle and I hit the shallow water just before the stream. This is my favorite part—the rushes. I pick up speed as I approach them, paddling as strongly as I can. The rushes are sturdy, tall, dark green, and resilient. I hit the rushes, hold my paddle up high, and glide. It’s magical. The sound of the rushes rubbing on my kayak, the sight of the rushes parting as my kayak passes through, the shimmer of the water, the zig-zag reflection of the rushes in the water, the red dimple right where the rushes meet the water. The sight, the sound—I never tire of it. I pull the brim of my hat down low, so all I see are the rushes and the water. Sometimes I close my eyes so I can focus on that wonderful sound made by the rushes rubbing on the kayak. And the feeling that comes with gliding on the water . . . so smooth, free, simple . . . no bumps, bottlenecks, stumbling blocks, or barriers. Just the luxurious feeling of gliding . . . and realizing that nothing really matters.