Saving Myself In Freezing Waters

Man it is bitter cold, and the oar is gone floating down river fast. My canteen has whiskey, so I take a swig; knowing it has to last. Where are my matches? I ponder so I grab my Cuban cigar. How many miles would I float down river before I reached that sandbar? My moose tattoo gave a mighty laugh and held his teddy bear tighter. The clouds were overcast now. I was not sure if I had a lighter. The matches had gotten wet you see, when I leaned out to grab my oar. I wish I had brought the other one with me when I left that sainted shore. I took a puff of the cigar, ah heaven, but now I needed a snack. I opened ma’s picnic basket, and drew out a white doily and a love sack. She had thrown a flashlight in the bottom which I noticed as ate my food. Chocolate donuts and ham sandwiches with pickles put me in a good mood. Do you have your hatchet? My inner voice asked. Let’s chop ourselves an oar. Carved myself a makeshift paddle out of canoe to take me to shore. The moose tattoo was laughing, making her teddy bear chuckle too. I got to land by eleven o’clock, the forest turning a nightly hue. I barely had enough strength to pull the canoe up into the safety of the sand. The cattails were impeding our way, my tattoo and I a pretty motley band. Couldn’t you have just jumped in the water? My inner voice asked on a whim. Forgetting for a second I guess, that this fisherman does not know how to swim.