I often remember, and remember fondly
how the fog rose off the surface of the water
in great tall fingers reaching for the sky-
when it was almost still night, the sun making barely a shadow
and the cool kiss of dew on my skin
from the humid air
as even the breeze had not yet awoken.

I remember how the boats and oars
looked so vibrant in their color
as that gray shroud of morning sleepiness
laid a drowsy shade over the greens and blues
with a gentle hand.

They were red and yellow
and as we glided quietly towards the sunlight,
sparkles rippling alongside the waterbugs
and I thought to myself
this all I would ever hope for.