We found a letter Godfrey kept deep in his “secret hole”, down the lining of his red and black plaid suitcase. One scuffed air-mail page and photo of a smiling woman, carrying a canoe, across a fallen log on a portage..”to Godfrey, it said,” Nics a dream paddler now”. ” She asked that this photo be sent on to you”.
“Nic said you made her laugh so hard she fell off this log into the slough, as you dropped your suitcase, wobbled twice and fell in too”.
Dream Paddler- There is a shift in time, on a summer night, when Dawn shakes her blanket free of sand and dew. When sleeping out on shore, round about 4;am sense that change, feel the chill waft over you. Burrow deep down warm, or if you must, clamber up for a wee and look around..you may hear the sound as the dream paddlers pass. Out in the dark and mist hear the hiss, the sursurrus of wake down the long tumblehome.
There is a chill to the vagabond’s bone, but not the scary kind. It is peaceful somehow, the times they sing. He has heard the dream paddlers, heard the summons of stick banged on gunnel, “Feh” of whale’s breath answering.
Even the gulls stand quiet- moon still to as the paddlers thank her, their guide, cross that rim we call horizon to the worlds other side.
“Our Nicolas a dream paddler now”. “She has earned her place in the Waka’s proud bow. “Ever young, ever laughing as the spray chills her face, they leave only the lone vagabond, only the stars, a fading trail of green phosphorescence , splash and echo of song their only trace…