I canoed with broad strokes on the Riviere de Prairie from the small town called St Genevieve that goes back to the 1800’s on the West Island of Montreal where my brother lives. His house fronts the river and it is an easy task to push his canoe into the calm water . The trees were just turning with fall color and there was a hint of autumn in the breeze. The water was flecked and dappled by the sunshine coming through the trees by the shore and the scene bespoke of a majestic pastoral muse as we languidly stretched our oars dipping in unison on the river. Ducks and Canadian geese abounded and their cries pierced the air as they skimmed on the edge of water bringing a signature royal to our paddling.
“This is Canada “,I enthused silently.
A duck swam fearlessly toward us and then kept in tie with the bow of the canoe turning it’s head to fix a curious gaze upon us.
There was something about this duck i thought and then i exclaimed,
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