On this noisy crowded Fourth of July
I pull-away from the beach
and head toward the cove,
my kayak slowly gliding
through the water.
Splashes and screeches
slowly dissolve
into the softness of silence.
I lean back,
gaze at the brilliant blue sky
full of huge drifting cumulus puffs,
then rhythmically rock my paddle
from side to side,
as I pull it through reflections
of wavy white, azure, and grey
In the distance,
I notice the scraggly green top
of a tall underwater plant,
and wonder if it longs to be a lilly.
Water-bugs are plugging away,
skittering all around me,
dragging rippling V's behind them.
The glistening surface
full of small swells and troughs
is grabbing the sunlight
with its minuscule mirrors
and shiny shadows
of amber, brown, white
pale and dark blue,
olive, chartreuse.
Just as I start to understand
how the impressionists
saw the spectrum broken apart
into colorful patches and dots,
a humble black and white dragonfly lands on the bow of my boat.
The shimmering simplicity
of its translucent beauty,
a perfect contrast
to its flashy rainbow-winged cousins,
swiftly swirling and swooping,
dipping their heads,
while skimming the surface for food,
and if I listen very carefully
I can sometimes hear
the delicate buzz-flapping whizz
of their wings
against the background hum
of blending chirps clicks clacks
taps and tweets,

I look beneath it all
into a swaying liquid meadow
of gold and emerald,
full of slippery mud-colored minnows
darting this way and that.

Immersed in serenity,
I gently place my paddle
across the hull,
close my eyes,
slowly inhale
the pine-tinged freshwater scent.

Dangling my fingers
in the cool and wet,
I meditate
to a mantra of thank-yous
for the granting of a wish
never made.

© by Joan Kantor.
Used here with the author's permission.