Canoeing by the Light of the Moon

Unpublished 1995

Under the light of a full moon, I walk through the sparse woods to the bank of the river. The trees, though not thick, crowd right up to the bank and I'm forced to ease the canoe over a large root to set it in the water. The river is deceptive; though it doesn't appear to be moving swiftly, the current pulls eagerly at the canoe as if to claim it for it's own. I quickly climb in and pull for the center with my paddle.

Drifting with the current, I settle back and paddle only occasionally in order to maintain the center of the current. The moon shines like a bright silver dollar, lighting the river with a silver glow. The hidden springs below the river push enough water to ripple the surface yet not enough to nudge the canoe into even a slight rock. I am alone, and the river is mine. No sound disturbs the night save the muted splash of my paddle. Time stands still.

Faintly ahead a glow beckons. Turning out of the river into a narrow channel, I follow the glow. The channel widens out into a large circular pool lit by a mercury lamp set high. The river water, dark as tea from tannin, turns crystal clear. Silently I glide toward the center of the pool. A third of the way across the limestone bottom falls off sharply. The rest of the pool is bowl shaped. I can see a turtle crawling across the bottom; he appears only a couple feet down. As I reach into the startlingly cold water, I realise with a shock he is closer to twenty feet below my out stretched hand. The water appears perfect. It is clear as a sheet of glass and feels as if it were drawn from a deep well. Cupping my hand I taste it; it is perfect---as sweet as any well water I drank in my youth.

I turn widely, circling the basin of the spring to a small wooden platform set with stairs. Just beyond the bank dips low enough to beach the canoe. The spring is deserted, so no one protests as I strip down and jump in the water. The water sends a delicious shock through my body as I slice through the water. I arc upward, breaking the surface and gasping lightly as I begin to adjust to the water temperature. The limestone shelf at the edge of the pool leaves me in water just above my waist. Pushing off from there I dive toward the bottom of the bowl. It slopes downward sharply toward the opening of a cave from which the cold water issues. I realise two things at once; Mr. Turtle was probably closer to thirty or forty feet down and I am not going to make it to the bottom on the air in my lungs.

I break the surface again, blowing and gasping, and strike for limestone shelf. I play in the shallows, reveling in the solitude and the pure water. After a few minutes I return to the stairs and climb out to dry. I didn't bring a towel, so I sit and smoke a cigarette while waiting to air dry enough to dress. Too soon I am dry and dressed and it is time find my campsite. With a sigh I push the canoe into the pool and let the current push me toward the river. The moon still smiles on me, the river brightly lit with her silver light.

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