Water lapped at the plastic bottom of the canoe. When I was 8, I read the word “canoe” for the first time in a book, part of the Magic Tree House series. I quickly formed the assumption that it had something to do with volcanoes. The oar on my lap twitched ever so slightly with each jostle of the boat and the aluminum seating began taking on the warmth of the sun and the fresh morning air filled my lungs as I pondered my volcanous misunderstanding. It shouldn’t be expected of so young a child to have a complete grasp on his vocabulary, especially when facing phonetical inconsistencies like “volcano” and “canoe”. The sun’s blaze momentarily reflected on the lake’s surface, and I took a while to recover my eyes from the glare.
The target was visible in the distance. A 12-foot sailboat, suitable for two beginner sailors or one rather experienced one, with a triangular Neapolitan sail and a hand-held rudder and a small cavity in the deck to assist with ducking under the boom as it switched with the wind. I could just make out the two miniscule figures putting their weight over the side of the craft to balance it. My watch read that it was time to boogie. As my oar dipped into the water and the forward motion of the boat increased, I felt a hum build in my chest, turning into a full fledged song:
Sailing, sailing, fast and really good
I never met a boat I didn't like and never would
Water, water, on our earth so flat
Look at me I'm like a fish oh no I lost my hat
The song I sang came from a place of melancholy and deep loathing for past mistakes.
a stupid ai image of a boat (sorry real artists I have no money)