The whispering of the rushes
thick by the river
caught his attention.
There was not wind. There was
not even a breeze to speak of.
Still the whispering
caught hold his attention
as he eased his shell out
onto the water.
'A young egret,' he thought,
as he positioned his oars.
'Perhaps a water rat?',
were the cause,
though he knew neither were,
the cause of the rushes whispering
but the ghost of the rower
come haunting the morning,
to whom he extended
an oar in invitation
to row with him.
Philip Kuepper
(15 June, 2013)
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