By Joshua Radin



Castle like rocks stretch the lining of the west side of the water

casting a shadow across the left side of the canyon

the shadow slowly climbs to the top of the ridge

a warm breeze blows the hair across my face

trees scattered about the canyon walls

and I can count the ones that circle me


the stair steps of the rock that cascade around us

now shelters the water from sun

the gray flicker of water rocking the boat

back and forth

back and forth

Darkness cannot come fast enough


Trees show off their reflection to left

To the right

I rest in the middle of this beauty


Wet hair dripping lake water down my back


being in this moment





The Same Highway

The same highway every year

identical parcels packed every year

black, blue, green, orange sleeping bags

and the same jerking in the diesel truck

from the boat being pulled behind.


What is it about this trip?

When does the same journey become


or tradition?

Do we decide these for our family’s?

At what point do the roads become

so familiar that I could drive them

with my eyes closed…


Lemons and limes roll around the floor

boards of the truck-

the bags torn open and this is only the beginning…


The memory of what is created with my children

Is something I have grown to love over the years

Lots of preparation and something is always


Gratefully, its never been a child

Seven trips to the store, five coolers

four bags of food and 12 towels


Every year this trip comes and goes

excited and happy, 95 degrees

and my heaven on earth

feeling weightless in the water…


the sun breaks through the windows

casting light across my bare legs

in a matter of days, the same sun will

be shining across my face

on the drive home…