Silver glinting dancers glide among flowing emerald ribbons to the tune of the orchestral river arrangement. “Paddle!” My dad’s voice cuts through the choral crescendo of nearby blackbirds. The world turns, mirroring the aqueous pirouettes trailing behind shining, waxed pine. I breathe out the anxiety slowly through my nose, inhaling the calm of the flow of the river and peaceful pine. “You steer.” The boat sloshes back and forth as my dad beckons me to go to the front. The boat lurches just as it completes its slow panoramic detour, launching us into a collision course. The blisters on my hands ache with each laboring stroke. Sweat drips down my forehead, stinging my eyes. My oar becomes a furious blur, drenching me in cold river with each uncontrolled stroke. Relief washes over me as I just narrowly miss the branches saving my eyes. “Jesus Christ!” My heart sinks to the bottom of the river as I look back, seeing my dad emerging from the grove wielding his oar in protection.
This one is interesting. The beginning gives images of a formal ballet with live symphony music. Kind of a graceful and elegant thing. Then things go wrong, and that image is forfeit into chaos. That works on many levels because it gives us the background feeling of a river that has a spot of rapids or other hazards. That tension is shown through your images when read all together. Good work!
Yeah, they are nicknamed ‘divorce boats’ for a reason. I think a kayak might have been a more scenic and peaceful scenic endeavor for myself but I’m trying to not tailor story too much and be more unrestricted with senses. Thanks for the feedback as always!
i rest my arm on the edge of a wooden canoe, my fingertips trailing through the dark blue waters with an image of the setting sun distorted by ripples that spread out from where i touch and cease when they hit the edge of the boat or i follow them with my eyes until they are lost to the horizon. my hand is warm and the water is room temperature as we approach the shore. its clearer and crystalline. the oars on the open lake swallow the waters to make room for us. theres a tranquil but not eerie quiet, the hum of nocturnal insects and ticking noises accent the silence like glitter or glockenspiel keys. sea sickness sets in like a hangover and im laying back with my head on a burlap sack of fish. the scent is strong but fades into my subconscious senses as more prominent wooshing of the oars tearing the surface of the water, and twinkling stars in the vast blackness of the night sky
Silhouettes of trees refracts on mirror lake on a cold canvas of swirling lilac and glowing orange. The peppered air so crisp it baptizes my soul. A rogue frog hops out from the side of our wooden prison, taking it’s rightful place on the blunt tip. He looks up at the moon still hanging, as if it were a Western dragonfly. The moons beating wings covers the lake in a rising silence. The frog selfishly grabs up at the moon and eats her with his fleshy and mucus covered tongue!
My arms let out a sigh of relief as I stop for a minutes rest… My floating cradle is rocked by smooth, glassy waves from nearby speedboats. A well timed breeze relieves me from the august air, bringing with it, scents of marijuana and barbecues from the crowds on the grassy bank at the rivers edge. I observe myself and the cloudless, blue sky above me from the puddle of water that has soaked my feet. The day is still and silent apart from the gentle rocking and crashing of water against the boat, and far off, muffled chatter from the bank.