It is mid-day and quiet on the water,
frogs lie low in the dry August grasses,
birds rest in surrounding trees.
The only stir on this windless day
comes from dancing mini water bugs
and a few jumping fish
surprised by our gliding kayaks.
My husband, today one year older,
always up ahead and eager for discovery,
silently motions me to hurry,
to share with me
the watchful blue heron
hiding in the tall reeds.
We breathe, content with this birthday gift.
Then the bird rises, flapping giant wings,
reminding us of his dinosaur kin.
Soon my husband is off again,
heading toward the future's pull —
a swim, a snack, some unknown next.
I linger, paddling slowly
from side pond into the larger lake
and as reward the bird rises up once more
out of thick brush at the water's edge.
One last view of awkward grace
which makes me laugh,
anticipating my own need to exit soon
this floating plastic shell.
I pray for grace in what I know
will be an awkward rising.


© by Signe Eklund Schaefer.
Used with the author's permission.