Canoeing

Our paddles sluice
the dusk-dark water
as night draws
the evening sky
close overhead.

Cedars and spruce
hang tipsily
over the bank
leaning dark reflections
over lichen-clad granite.

A fish lunges
the taut skin
of the lake and
overhead a kingfisher soars
beaking his lunatic call.

We drift the lazy water
clap echoes
off the tree line
watch dragonflies
etch the cooling air.

Mist rises from
the edge of this day
and the humped hills
finally swallow the sun.

c.1980 Rita Rosenfeld