The river meanders endlessly and rises and falls with the moon
It was peaceful at 10am on Sunday morning but not 12
We waved at the homeless man who lived on the floating plastic house
Until we reached the furthest downstream paddling was easy
Caressing the water with the curve of my paddle only to plunge it down into the water
At the lock Peter drove us strait into to the crashing water and despite my fear I had to keep on
paddling to not crash
The upstream journey on the way back was a fight
My arms were tight and aching but I didn’t want to be at the back; I was better than that
The old Queen Thames boat chugged past which gave a short burst of speed
That old gray dock bounced with the wake of our slender racing boats
I almost hit a few bikers while carrying my long boat through the path into the hut
They hated us