The boat with no oars
Dear little Sailor
In a wooden boat smooth and sealed, you and I sit above the waters top. You pick up the oars, breathing in the smell of pine wood and lacquer. As your hands clasp them tight with eagerness you begin to row,
Some sections are smooth, some sections are bumpy, then it seems like your efforts to row don’t move you at all… you look over your shoulder, you see that I am not rowing. Dropping your oars you turn with question on your lip…
“Why do you not row Father?” You ask.
Oh child, see past my laughter at your question to see what I see.“I do not need oars when I created the rivers, seas and lakes”,
The way I can change things and get your boat from one side of the lake to the other is as numerous as the hairs on your head. You must see past the ways in which you think I will move.
Are not the currents controlled by me? Is not the source of the wind swirled and swished by my hand? Are not the depths of the sea floor moulded and known by only I?”
Know that the times you felt as though I did not row or help, the times you felt I laughed…the times you couldn’t see above the surface of the water, I am moving in ways you cannot fathom
Not a turn or move I do miss of those in my boat,
Your boat carver, the great wave maker