Canary yellow fins of a kayak paddle
flash between the soft blue of sky
and teal green of Tahoe’s nearshore,

as a boy embedded to his waist in
the small craft masterfully maneuvers
under and around the pier where
his grownups sit sunning on a
sparkling September afternoon,
quieter now after Labor Day,

this hatted child paddling with
confidence much greater than his years,
a big sister and little sister in matching
lifejackets and striped shirts like his,
wading, calling for their turns,

the little one clambering aboard
to kneel behind her brother, her
hatless blonde head gleaming gold
into the day.

Take me back! she commands her captain,
who pilots her to a floating dock as she
urges, Faster! Faster! and he complies,
yellow fins blurring against the sky.

He’ll be negotiating rapids in a few years,
this young ferryman already chauffeuring
passengers on watery adventures, paddling
with the certainty of the female mallards
floating nearby,

all of them turning into small waves
moving shoreward, bobbing nose first
into what’s coming toward them.