September 11, 2003

It's starting to fall

The wind begins to blow and after an hour or so begins to calm a bit. Such a beautiful day. Cooler today, even the water feels cold. Where is everyone?

I recall a conversation with my daughter the night before:

"Dad, do you ever read any of your old trip reports?"

"Sometimes I do. Why?"

"I've noticed you don't write the same as you used to"

"How do you mean?"

"You used to write longer stories, and talk more about what you did and what you saw"

I like it when my kids listen to me. With their ears, with their eyes, or their hearts. Katie has been listening to my writing.

This afternoon it is my turn to listen. The katydid are so loud they drown out the sounds of the city. Only the whoop whoop of rotor blades from a presidential helicopter can drown them out. A few people show up and we get on the water. A new paddler joins us tonight.

In the Boundary Channel and past the Pentagon. September 11. The memory of two years ago run through my mind.

Back out on the Potomac we head back toward Jack's Boathouse. I'm paddling slow and near shore hoping that some of the boat traffic will generate a little excitement in the confused waves reflecting from shore. Most of the group goes around the outer edge of Roosevelt Island, but three of us take the shorter inside track.

Behind me I hear an odd splash. I turn around and see our new paddler has capsized. A T-recovery gets us underway again. A few minutes later it is dark, and we paddle the remaining distance as night falls.

She's right you know. I used to write much more. Talk about more things I saw; things I learned. It seemed easier back when I was worried more about improving my skills. Nowadays I seem to enjoy listening too.

Woody