It was a beautiful afternoon on Blackwater Creek... Did you know there is a canoe launch at Hollins Mill Park?
Did you know you can paddle up the Creek? In and out of shadows and the relentless Southern July sun, thru the mimosa arches dropping their fluffy pink Dr Seuss puffball flowers into the water...
You can watch a wood duck lift his improbably large body into panicked flight, barely escaping gravitational pull long enough to make it to the further bank and make a comical, beak-first crash-landing into what may be his winter house. Or weekend condo. Or batcave. Or whatever wood ducks have on the opposite banks of creeks, across from the nest you surprised on this side as you paddled past.
You can paddle up and up until the kayak bottoms out and you have to step out and sink ankle deep into the softly clinging silt, filling your sandal, gritty between your toes. You can haul your kayak up over your head like the intrepid explorer you are... only today. Not usually this much of a risk-taker, preferring mostly to read about intrepid explorers, rather than emulate them. You can rock-hop your way past the shallows to the next stretch of deep water and keep paddling on.
Or you can slowly turn around and float back down the current, surrendering to the elements, eyes unfocused, slightly drunk with the heat and the motion of the water. You can let the blazing southern sun burn the fire of hurt and grief out of you and float along the water and stop trying so damn hard for one lazy hour of the week. You can take selfies under the mimosa tree and admire the pink-fluff-covered water and breath in the mud-wet-pollen-laden air, and be for a few effortless minutes a Harper Lee heroine, or a William Faulkner character who has a predetermined story arc already written for them, instead of a 44 year old woman still trying to figure out how to write the next part of this insignificant story.
