Tuesday, September 29, 2009
(making a little progress today)
Fortunately, the rocking subsided almost at once, and she dared to raise her head and look out.
Her husband stood sputtering, chest deep in brown water and covered with mud and wet leaves that had been floating on the slow moving surface. He looked like some B movie swamp monster.
“Pfft! . . .pfft! . . .Oh crap, I forgot how bad creek water can taste. This stuff is foul! I think every catfish in south Texas must have pissed in it.”
Once again, she found herself giggling as Paul presented another memorable scene for the record books. She could already picture the look of long suffering on his face as she regaled all their friends back home with his acrobatics. Fortunately, he acknowledged his own lack of coordination and she knew he would be a good sport about it. She grinned at him affectionately, but then the laughter died in her throat as she followed his furrowed gaze over to where the paddle still protruded from the water.
The top foot of it stuck straight up from the surface.
Something about the way it stood there, defiant against the slow current, raised the hair on the back of her neck. As high as the water came on her husband, the paddle shouldn’t have been sticking out at all.
“Paul? What’s happening? How is it doing that?”
She leaned forward to see better as the boat continued is snail like drift downstream.
“I’m not sure,” He eyed the paddle suspiciously, “but I intend to find out.