paddling upstream

the water is placid
and green
as it sways from side to side,
up against the grey
piers,
the decks, the hulls
of boats.
the world is gently
singing a watery lullabye
as we
paddle towards deep
sea, out of branches,
the tributaries where
we launched.

bald eagles are perched
on nested poles,
herons, thin and silver
lean out
from the green thick
tangle
of shore brush.
painted houses and bungalows
are quiet as stones
along the river.
shuttered and shaded,
it's hard to tell if anyone
is home.

in a long wooden chair
we see a woman in a white
dress reading.
she looks like a saint
with quiet smile.
she waves as if she knows us.
we raise our hands to her.

it's neither hot or cold,
but calm,
no wind to speak of
as we row, and row,
to where we're told,
towards a red barn,
then around and back
to where we came from.