Rndmrunner Writing Prompts - 2. Chapter 2

Sun: 480 words

A guilty pleasure, perhaps. Guilty, because we refused to share this quiet spot. It really came into its own in August: the cooler nights, the active skies, the abundance of shooting stars. If I was lucky, I could catch a glimpse of the northern lights and. Tonight was one of those perfect evenings: the water like glass and the stars blanketed the inky sky. The air was clearer now, hot during the day and cooler now, the hair on my forearms prickling slightly in the dampening air.

I focused on my paddle, planting it into the water and the feel of the canoe sliding forward under me, almost silently. These moves so practiced as to be unconscious. I loved the feel of the butt of the paddle rotating under my hand as the blade returned for another stroke. I caught a soft scent of cherry. I had carved this paddle myself and we fit each other. Water swelled gently from the canoe with each stroke, the ripples cascading outward into the darkness.

I could see the dock now. James was already there, his canoe turned over and water still dripping lazily from the gunwales. I gently manoeuvred to the dock and centred my weight which brought the canoe silently to a stop against the canvas bumper on the edge. The deck was damp as I lay my paddle down and hoisted myself up to sit on the dock. My legs groaned as I moved to climb out, numb from kneeling on my feet. Grabbing the gunwale, I lifted the canoe to my thighs and felt the water on the hull soak into my shorts. With a slight audible suction, the canoe slid out of the water and I spun about and gently laid it to rest beside its brother.

The mud was soft along the short path up from the little dock with silent footsteps. The grass already damp with dew grazed my calves as I walked along. I could not so much see as feel this familiar path taking my bearings from the grounds very contours. Shortly the path opened up and I felt the hard Muskoka rock under my feet, shaped by glaciers eons ago. James was resting on his back and didn’t move as I approached. Neither of us made a word of greeting. He moved slightly to share the hollow in the rock in which he lay and I lay down and took his hand.

During the day we worked separately in the sun. In the evening we could share its warmth, stored in this ancient rock. My muscles relaxed as the warmth from the stone seeped into my bones, my thumb ran over the roughness of his palms memorizing his calluses anew. Like the sun’s warmth in the rock, we had saved up our day waiting to pass it on in the quiet of the night.