December’s afternoon sun
is June’s early evening.

My kayak slices through a thin layer
of ice in the shallow cove.
I make my way to deeper water,
paddling out, for what may be
the last time this year.

The fresh scent of lake water,
green and ripe in the summer,
is cleaner and bluer now,
as the solstice approaches.
It mixes with the musky moldy smell
of decomposing leaves along the shoreline.
They swirl together on the breeze
to form a curry of comings and goings.

Soon all that is animate
will seem to sleep,
blanketed by whites and grays,
resting deeply,
until it is time again to stir, to spring.

I can feel all of it,
come to rest on my skin,
as a cold wind blows by.
The then. The now. The next.

All moments hover here, in this moment.
I inhale, and I exhale,
the endings, and the beginnings.

I, am the pause in the middle,
free-floating…

Until near-frozen fingertips remind me
that I must paddle back.
Through the watery trail in the thin ice.
To the warmth of the waiting fire.
And a chipped ceramic mug.