The Canoe That Waited — Under the warm boards of the dock, Nessa kept a tin for smooth lake stones, and one empty corner tapped at her all morning. Read the full story →
Under the warm boards of the dock, Nessa kept a tin for smooth lake stones, and one empty corner tapped at her all morning. She had seen a silver-white stone shining beyond the cove, so she slid the cedar canoe from the reeds and pushed off before the wind wrinkled the water. The paddle dipped hush, drip, hush. Halfway there, a loon surfaced beside her with red eyes bright as secrets.
“Wait,” it called, and dove. Nessa frowned. Waiting cost her the easy glide; the canoe turned, her sleeve got soaked, and the stone sank out of sight under a dark ripple. Then the loon came up tugging a loop of fishing line from its foot. Nessa leaned low, fingers cold, and worked the knot free strand by strand.
The loon left her a feather, black with tiny white stars, rocking where the stone had been. Nessa paddled home slower than she had left, listening to the lake click softly under the canoe. If you spot the paddle resting across the seats, you’ll know why one empty corner of her tin stopped tapping.