On my way home ...I always go by this lake

even though it's a bit out of the way. Oh how I would love to be in my Father's aluminum canoe with him ( I'd be in the front as the man always steers, in the back)...gliding through the stillness, probably fish jumping here and there, the sound of the paddle as it stokes the water...It would feel like flying, sitting in the front, in the steam, in the morning light. My father would be smoking his unfiltered Lucky Strike...I miss him terribly.