Kayaking To The Moon

Well, not all the way there, but in that direction...

A great winter day today! After being a good little helper at the Legion's Christmas party for kids (my Dad used to love being Santa, but his vision got too bad to do it) I came right back to the Beach House and worked on my seminar paper for a couple of hours.
So when *golden light* shone in the window, I answered the call and pulled on my wet suit. Out in the yard a few seconds later, I passed the landlady on the path -- me with kayak, she being tugged in two directions by her dogs. "Going kayaking?" she asked.
"Yup! Just along the shore."
"Good!" she said. "Later, I'm going to bury the crow."
Oh boy.
So, while it was a good time on the water, with just enough breeze to wrinkle the surface and some very slight, gentle swells from wakes, something was on my mind. Every bird and animal I saw reminded me that the crow has died, the one my landlady has been carrying around for about two months.
Still, I looked up into the clear sky, and pointed my bow in the direction of the rising moon. There were signs of mortality here on the water, and all positive signs, at least from the point of view of the ducks who were fishing and the otter that crept up on the rocky shore with a crab in his mouth. crunch crunch crunch His pointy teeth cracked the crab shell and pulled out bits of white meat. crunch crunch The otter didn't even flinch when I paddled past. Busy.
Out by Flower Island, there were five other otters tumbling around, so I didn't crowd them by circling the island. It's really their place, eh? I sent a SPOT message and turned back.
Such a good clean feel to the afternoon air! And once I'd put the kayak away, the landlady came by with a small garden shovel. So we buried her crow.
It wasn't a party, but it was a good moment.