A chilly Sunday morning.
Early spring.
The boat is out the boathouse.
Prepared for things to come.
The crisp air,
a bit too cold,
to be out on the open waters.
A stroll,
Big steps.
My small steps following.
To check on the boat.
Safely walking behind my father.
The lakes are calling.
Freedom is waiting there.
Late afternoon.
Dark rain clouds on the horizon.
The little lake is empty.
The wind is strong.
A lifevest must be put on.
I’m allowed to go.
Sailing alone.
Sheering over the water.
After school.
Running home.
Quick.
Quick.
Quick.
On to the little frozen pool.
Darkness is coming.
A few hours left.
My mom tying the laces.
Thight.
No thighter.
Skating until your feet hurt.
Stumbling home.
When lucky,
my mom picked me up.
Feet in the panniers.
Winter still there.
The canal frozen,
that hardly happened.
Distant laughter.
Happy voices.
My dad on skates,
with his friends,
I wasn’t allowed to tag along.
On a tour around the lakes.
Still a bit sad
missing out on that adventure.
Being raised between
water and fresh air
runs deep.
