New Orleans

Canoeing the Swamps of Louisiana

Swamp in morning mist. Image from Pixabay.

Swamp in morning mist.

Impulse

Along the edge of my consciousness, there is an eddy line.

Whenever I cross this mark,

The current hits the bow, turning me downstream.

Water spills off the paddle in steady trickles as the canoe shoots forward.

I am a quiet cut on the surface,

Moving through a fog interrupted by moss trailing over cypress that pass by

And are gone.

 

For Mickey Landry, who taught Outdoor Ed when I was in high school.

 

Writing, copyright 1987 and 2016, Ann Cavitt Fisher, all rights reserved. The first version of this poem was typed on the 1967 electric Smith Corona . . . that my Mom typed my Dad’s thesis on when I was two :-). It was the typewriter I had in college . . . and oh, god, does it make me appreciate my Mac.

Swamp image is from Pixabay.


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Ann Fisher

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