Shaded Water
by Jack McNeel
Our caravan floating easterly on cool, still water,
Twelve of us together with no reprieve for far too long,
But in the hours on the lakes, our minds could drift away
Among the entrancing noise of swirling water
Caused by our paddles’ strokes.
The rich yellow sun still rising,
Blinding us doubly from the sky and the water’s glare.
We began paddling toward the shallows by the bank
To be in the shade of trees overhanging the lake.
I look up from the dark water and something startles me:
The silhouette of a raptor perched on a close, low branch.
It’s a golden eagle, the largest kind on the continent.
Passing under it, I slowly raise my finger to point it out,
Then Ben yells, “Woah, look!”
The eagle, alarmed, took off
And everyone lost a perfect picture opportunity.
Ben, realizing the newfound resentment his outburst just caused,
Lowered his head, embarrassed.
But I was glad the eagle got away, uncaptured.
I felt the breeze its enormous wings created as it took off,
Flying toward the sun.
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