Sunday Sketch - Drifting

When the lake is glass, you drift. Paddling is a disturbance of the peace. The oar cuts through golden blue glass, the ripples break the reflection of the setting sun. At dusk, touched by sky and the water, you are drifting in between.

The shore seems as far as the horizon, and for a moment there is only water. And you are a water bug, held up by surface tension. You are the fish that jump to see the sunset. You are the heron, overseeing the dusk from your one-legged perch.

The prow of your boat cuts through the water, tiny golden waves behind you. The sun disappears behind the trees and the world you drift in grows ever darker. The paddle brings you safely home, no longer drifting. Cutting through the peace.