Today we drove with the kayaks up to Rte 165 in Rhode Island, where we put in for a float on the Wood River. It was a clear and cool morning, perfect for a paddle on this small, pristine river. We floated down for a mile or so, and then realized we'd better turn back and start the tough paddle back up against the several rapids we passed through. It was a struggle, for sure, forcing us to get out of our kayaks (no easy task for me!) several times, but me made it back with smiles and congratulations. Below is a poem I wrote this afternoon about our paddle. 

KAYAKING ON THE WOOD RIVER

(two in their 70’s)

They floated down the quiet, lovely stream,

just following the undemanding flow

over the glowing pebbly bottom and under

trees in all their handsome summer styles.

They stopped sometimes to study plants or shades

of sunlight on the stream, and sometimes let

the paddles drop and felt the current lead

them carefully along. They knew that rivers,

like life, should best be followed and not fought,

should be obeyed rather than battled with,

and so they yielded to this youthful-looking

stream and shared its ease and peacefulness

with all their elderly serenity.