The boat was light.
So we, though small, rowed easy.
Little brother covered its floor with fishies,
Then Dad rowed.
Light boat anchored hard and heavy at a fish spot,
we’d watched others drift by.
I could have sworn it was we who moved—
till he pointed out that shoreline focus,
and how our line-up with it held, unchanged.
Afloat, all views are relative.
8 thoughts on “Afloat (a little poem)”
Interesting, to say the least, and I understood some of the info when I’d lived in the Tacoma area at Puget Sound or some rivers… when I was a kid. Anyhow, this grabbed my attention. Thank you for the poem and the pictures!!
It’s odd, isn’t it, the images that stand out in our memories from way back in childhood. This is one of them for me: sitting quiet on that water, fishing, and those two fishermen in the boat near us. I thought we were moving past them, but they were drifting past us. Seemed like a parable…
Our anchor holds and God does not give up on us.
Exactly, Hazel. How important to remember that “our anchor holds,” even when we think we’re drifting, lost!
Fishing with Dad makes for great memories…thanks for sharing 🙂
Yes, it does, Lynn. Good times.
I tried to leave a comment on your latest blog post/poem, but I couldn’t! I don’t have accounts right now with any of the three choices given. So, let me just say it here:
Vivid picture, better than a photo! And I like the ending you brought it around to. Thanks for this living thing.
“Afloat, all views are relative.”
So true, in so many ways. And I’ve sat in some of those boats. I hope you had a great weekend, Sylvia.
Thanks, Sandy, for “deep-see”ing. I’m going to miss your Still Saturdays, but surely understand your decision. God bless your Haiti trip, and Christmas.
Comments are now closed.