Full Moon Paddle

A nearly full moon peaking through the clouds, still showing hints of pink and orange from the setting sun.

A full boat, we're off. Water like burnished glass, no wind, sharp, cold air. The sound of water dripping from six perfectly timed paddles, working together as one.

Across to Kirkland, then south, faster, harder we go. In unison, twist, reach, dig, pull, and again, and again ... I can feel the sweat trickling down my scalp, neck, back, hoping it doesn't go into my eyes and burn.

Not sure I can go any further. Finally, we stop for a short break in Yarrow Bay, near-ish the 520 Bridge. Drink my water, pull off extra layers, and we're off again.

Feel the boat glide, twist, reach, dig, pull, and again, faster than the outbound run. My lungs cry for more air, my throat for water, in my head counting ... sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, "HUT!", twenty, switch sides, one, two, three ...

The lights on the shore mixed with the inky blackness, where are we?, doesn't matter, keep paddling, twist, reach, dig, pull, and again ... Feeling my lats start to cramp, doesn't matter, keep paddling, twist, reach, dig, pull, and again, and again ... We must be near home, how long will they keep going?, doesn't matter, keep paddling, twist, reach, dig, pull, and again, working together as one.

Paddles up!