I’ve paddled over snow-capped mountain tops, the granite face rippling over blue. The embrace of the sun warms my shoulders, your face. Hats would be good there. Where else would you rather be than right here, right now?
The bass greet the blue canoe as a spectacle. Something blown out of proportion, long and dark, hovering overhead.
We peer back, down through water as clear as the air we breathe. Aliens from the world above the water world, we have achieved harmony and sit suspended in perfect space.
One soft stroke followed by another. Gliding like flying. The firs of the Great Northwest make pilgrimage over the rolling hills and down to the Creator’s Mirror. Welcome to Banff. It is good.