Longing

Another morning, and the cusp of a very warm string of days begins. Alas, this is another doctor day, in fact the post-op checkup to see if the surgical nurse is pleased with my healing. I am hoping this will be the last hurdle, that the following days will be nothing more than the familiar dance with weather and the Red Gods, culminating that first, longed, cherished cast!

Forty-one days I have lost, stripped away, with all of the preamble I count toward spring. I have not set foot upon a river since January 13th, a single breath captured amid a long, frigid winter.

If I close my eyes I catch the vision. Scanning the horizon I note the first hint of movement. Straining for several minutes those clues morph into wings. Five, ten minutes later I can see them clearly, twos and threes dance down the rippled surface along the head of the run, lifting free and gaining flight. My hand trails in the current and I notice the warmth, the life it brings, until that final act, a flash of defiance where one beautiful pair of wings no longer bob and flutter!

Seven and a half feet of flamed bamboo flexes in my hand as a part of me, the soft curl of dusky line points to a new wing bobbing amid those same currents…

I wait, until I am bathed in the light and warmth of the air, and my soul joins with the spirits of the river gods once more.