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
Reblogged this on Dream Big, Dream Often and commented:
Introducing Ann Cavitt Fisher!!
Ann, my family stories include several “Landrys.” A large clan? I think he would have been proud of you for this. I liked it…
Thank you — and what time is it there? Nocturnal?
beautiful words to go with this wonderful image.I feel the movement through the water. I’d love to see this.