The yellow and red plastic kayak glides upstream through the waters of the ipswich river, brown pond weeds bending towards me just under the surface. I maneuver under an outstretched tree branch hanging over the water ducking my head under at the point of its arch. Wind ripples across the surface of the water rounding a corner and heading into a light breeze.  I skim over lily pads stopping for a picture of their white and yellow flowers. A white heron spears a small fish wading in the shallows near a bed of reeds, it’s brilliant white plumage mocking the idea of camouflage. Maybe it looks like a cloud to its prey?
The sun reappears, the breeze abates, the calmly flowing river offers great reflections of the tree-lined shore in an upside down world that undulates as the ripples of my boat pass over. Time glides by as smoothly as the kayak moves through the water marked only by the growing fatigue deep in my shoulders. Fighting off the compelling urge to see what is around the next bend, and then the one after, we turn the kayaks around and head downstream.