Synchronicity

When paddling a canoe with three people, a certain synchronization and rhythm is required. You fall rather seamlessly into a pattern, match your pace with another. A wordless synchronization of bodies, of breath, of thoughts. And I felt present, for the first time in weeks. Knew the moment for what it was, as the breeze kissed my sun-warmed skin, over the quiet dip of a paddle. A moment of synchronicity.

There are moments when we feel more connected, more in sync, than others. Days or hours or minutes in which we remember finding meaning, however briefly. Moments which tie themselves into my life, slip knot, sailor’s, or noose. And you can see the ropes, the strings that bind them together. You can see it as surely as the sun that glitters on the water. You can feel is as surely as the crick in your neck, the sunburn on your legs. You can capture is as easily as the stars that float on the surface of a lake, or the fire that chases the sun behind the clouds.