The Mullica River glistened under the late summer sun, a liquid ribbon threading its way through the ancient pine barrens of New Jersey. Mist wreathed the cypress knees along the banks, and the air hummed with the symphony of cicadas and crickets. Kayak paddles dipping softly, I slipped into the heart of this wilderness, leaving the world behind me.
Lower Bank had been my childhood haunt, a sleepy little town where time moved at the pace of the tides. Today, a familiar yearning had drawn me back, and kayaking the Mullica felt like a homecoming. As I paddled, memories unfurled like water lilies under the sun. Lazy days spent fishing with Grandpa Jake, picnics on sandy beaches, whispered secrets shared with fireflies under the starlit sky.
The river narrowed, sunlight dappling the emerald water through overhanging branches. Dragonflies skimmed the surface, their iridescent wings flashing like jewels. A muskrat waddled along the bank, its furry tail twitching, and a great blue heron, startled by my approach, took flight with a majestic squawk.
Suddenly, the river opened up into a hidden lagoon, a secret haven tucked away from the world. Lily pads formed a green mosaic, and a family of ducks paddled serenely, their ducklings bobbing in their wake. I drifted amongst them, the silence broken only by the gentle splash of my paddle and the rhythmic chirping of frogs.
Time seemed to dissolve in that hidden lagoon, worries evaporating like morning mist. In the embrace of nature, I rediscovered a forgotten peace, a sense of belonging that transcended the years. Kayaking the Mullica wasn’t just a journey down a river; it was a journey back to myself.
As the sun dipped towards the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and gold, I reluctantly turned back. The paddle strokes felt heavier now, laden with the bittersweet ache of returning to the world. Yet, I carried within me a renewed spirit, a treasure gleaned from the heart of the Mullica River.
Back in Lower Bank, the town wore its evening cloak, the scent of woodsmoke mingling with the salty tang of the air. As I parked my kayak, a soft sigh escaped my lips. It was time to leave, but I knew a part of me would forever remain on the Mullica River, whispering secrets to the wind, echoing in the rustle of leaves, a song of serenity and belonging.
The Mullica River may just be a ribbon of water, but for me, it’s a lifeline to the past, a mirror reflecting the present, and a compass guiding me towards the future. And I know, with unwavering certainty, that I will return, drawn by the irresistible call of the wild, ready to lose myself once again in the emerald embrace of the Mullica River.
