Popcorn is essential on a long canoe trip. It’s compact and cooks easily: a little oil, a little salt and some heat. Everything about it is fun, except biting hard on an un-popped kernel. It’s a major ingredient in nighttime entertainment. If I’ve had a hard day, I pop some popcorn. Tonight, I invited myself to the movies. In the arctic there are two kinds of films: live stream and old classics. Tonight I watched Casablanca with a young Humphrey Bogart and an even younger Ingrid Bergman. It’s still a great film, each scene a small wonder. Love found. Love lost. Love found again. Good guys. Bad guys. Bad guy gets shot. Black and white. Friendship over one’s role. Authoritarian vs freedom. There are laws that make men free, and laws that enslave them. With no downloads, or internet connection, I play the film in my head. Not so bad. It’s fun trying to remember.
The second film type is live stream. I make the popcorn and take my Crazy Creek seat to a good viewing spot. Usually, I watch the river. Isn’t there something mesmerizing watching a fire, or watching water flow? We think the fire consumes the wood, but the wood yearns for the flame. Always a river is as full at its headwaters as it is at its mouth. Would that make it the perfect present moment? Water is an endless shape shifter:
There’s rain
Rivers
Dew
Mist
Clouds
Sprinkles
Ice
Ponds
Lakes
Streams
I drink it. Fish live in it. Rocks are worn smooth by its constant flow. Who says it’s just one thing? I breath in as I reach the paddle forward. I breath out when I pull the paddle back. What’s the difference between breathing and paddling?
