A day on the river. Mixed.
Early on, it was a sunstruck/river spirit day, paddling in a rhythm that doesn't exist for me anywhere else, ever. Dip, pull, feather, switch. Action in the wrist, shoulder, elbow, moving along propelled by my body, my legs braced forward, nursed by the river's current. Incredible green along the banks, healthy huge cottonwoods, silver-green olive trees hanging dead limbs over the water to catch unwary boatmen and sweep them out of their cockpits while immobilizing the boat.
At first I laughed at the sweepers/strainers every time I hit one, which was often and almost always river right. Now that I think of it, a puzzle; there were almost none on river left, and why was that? I thought of this later…