Rapids

The river was cold, swift and deep. The current pushed the man’s kayak sharply to the right.  A rock appeared out of nowhere! He paddled hard left and the nose of his craft glided safely past the obstacle.  Another boulder jutted out of the water.  A hard thrust to the left and he shot past it as well.

The river was born high in the mountains as a trickle. A trickle grew to a stream and then to a torrent.  It then took a perilous journey, dropping down several cascades until it slowed and lazily headed to the sea.  His kayak slipped into a calm pool. Sunlight reflected off the surface, shining like a million diamonds scattered across the water. He still had several rapids to master.

The man looked ahead. Foam swirled around his paddle as he cut hard, sending his kayak sideways down a small waterfall.  He popped back up to the surface. The cold water was invigorating.  He was alive.

The river was his life.  The kayak was his talent, carrying him from the headwaters to the sea. Rocks were the obstacles he faced.  He could have floated passively down the stream, but he chose to battle it. To take it on — man vs. nature.  That’s the way he preferred it. He’d rather be fighting the rapids.

Life was to be lived.  The river was to be tamed.  He smiled, pointed his kayak straight at the rapids and headed on to the sea.