Wind Rider

It was good to feel the weight of the water being diplaced by my oar. The canoe glided gently accross the surface of the bay, sensible to my every movement, twitch or manoeuvre . Slowly, I turned back to get home, moving the fin as it cut through the water, like a blade gently slicing a piece of silk. The wind wasn't kind and kept shooting waves at me with a nagging motion, as if to keep challenging me to get home before it made me topple. I kept on track, oaring with all my strength, following the line of the current, using the waves to slowly nudge me back to the coast as I followed the shore-line; mocking the wind with my indifference to his skirmishes. Annoyed, the wind retaliated with a gust like a canon. Shrapnel of wave and keel lunged for me. I quickly leaned to the left, and saved myself from most of the clash, getting myself wet doing so. Yet I was still in my canoe and grinned at my success, mocking once more the wind, telling him I knew what I was doing. I sped off on my way home, rather proud of myself, with a light breeze filling my lungs, the wind was rewarding me.