Pursuing the poetical, paradoxical, metaphorical, lyrical, artistical, majestical, and mystical.

Monday, July 13, 2015

Paddling the Snohomish River Estuary

Did I enter a movie set?
Derelict boats caked with years 
of neglect and tugs who haven't pulled
anything for such a long time
they've forgotten what they were built for -
sit moored to an ancient, still 
floating log raft dock that runs
this stretch of the river, a corridor hidden
from landlubber's view. A boat grave
yard for shy, hiding, hermit crab people
who sense or hear my paddle as it dips 
feather light strokes. Do they keep watch 
all hours? As I move upstream
they peer out dark openings 
wary and on high alert, somewhat 
territorial, but then return
friendly waves as I come abreast and 
pass on. Their boats wallow and groan
on the turning tide. Moorings 
pull and stretch, aching to follow
me back to the scouring sea.