| Paddling Poetry | |
| The spring breeze |

Spring
My old friend Spring is in the air carried on the woodland breeze with the scent of flowers fair greening buds on all the trees. He's a friend who's never strayed, no other breeze could feel the same. He's a friend who's not afraid to touch my face and speak my name. He shares his secrets in a song as he whispers through the leaves. He says I'm here where I belong where river through green forest weaves. "Forsake the ways of strife and throng, stay here with me by my blue stream." His spell is sweet, his magic strong; my other life is but a dream. I know his song is just a gust, it blows this way and then the next. Yet still I crave the wanderlust with which it fills my yearning breast. Nanook of the Nashwaak Reach out and touch a rock |
![]() Peregrine falcon, Mouth of Nashwaak |
![]() Owl on the Gibson Trail, Nashwaak |
The spring breeze sparks an emotion that has no name. By the time we begin to recognize this mysterious feeling and try to label it, as we so dearly want to do, the marvelous perfume is spent, and will not return until next year. Let’s hope the mystery is never solved. Enjoy it now, while we can.