Pays de L’eau #5 by James Morehead
July 3, 2011
Pays de L’eau #5
by James Morehead
i walk for hours it seems i can't imagine how far a mile is mouth too dry to complain ----- our campsite is barren rock barely alive trees clinging to small patches of soil an island unsheltered we lie back after supper on pure canadian shield our stomachs full of potatoes cured meat and marshmallows the darkness pinpointed by a thousand stars stars freed from they city's blazing light i follow satellites speeding past arcs from meteor trails and connect the dots of ancient figures that bind bright stars to the north in the darkness i imagine the space between stars i feel the empty night silent around me in every direction endless alone on the barren rock ----- our canoes form a thin line into a river's mouth it swallows us in a tangle of branches i sit in front my father steers behind guiding us through a twisted maze avoiding traps ducking under fallen trees the river narrows the forest hangs over us turning the sunlight green and shadowed i just read heart of darkness in school i scan the shore for cannibals ----- we camp early our last night the sky is black with storm clouds we pitch our tents in a steady blast of wind we eat dinner quickly expecting rain a tent flies from its anchor and we chase it laughing we wrap ourselves in plastic sheets watching lightning and a water wall approaching we can't speak the barrage of water deafening we sit soaked in a warm shower rain drops as large as marbles the water wall passes and dark clouds crumble uncovering sunshine and sunset we watch the storm's back a rainbow trailing behind its colours stretching from treetops to water's edge ----- dawn sun awakens the lake calm inviting mist's lazy swirls canoes slide through water smooth polished glass i try not to breathe fearing it will shatter
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