Like Mor-al-i-ty

Now here I am, weary, and in those inflamed winds
I must launch my boat.
Michelangelo Buonarroti

Like mor-al-i-ty,
the four lakes I canoed
in the Nova Scotia backwoods
came as a surprise!

One entered one to another
through a narrow channel.

Rejecting the ponderous metal canoes
for a small, traditional canoe of bark,
original to the north country,
I started my journey just before sunrise.

Mist rose silently over the lakes
and cool air brushed my face;
I was alone in an unfamiliar wilderness,
the beating of my heart was the only oracle.

It was so quiet on that first lake
that not even a bird broke the stillness
with its morning songs.

The first sound I heard
was the soft breaking of water
from the paddle.