You are stopped on an island of rock and pine and blueberry, the gear piled under the blue tarp, the canoe flipped, waiting in a steady rain for the storm you can see grey and hard over the lake, the wind rushing it towards you. You lie down on the flat stone, the rain on your face, and fall into a deep hallucinatory sleep, the dreams coming fast and everywhere, brimming over into your conscious mind before you’re fully under. You dream of warm music, of safe rooms, of her. Minutes later, years, you wake, bigger than your body, than the island, than the lake, the whole rocky wilderness. The rain has turned into a fine drizzle. The wind is gone. Soon you will load the canoe and push back into the water and be on your way, the storm having never materialized.
Welcome to the website of Aaron Kreuter, writer, graduate student, and paddler.