Brown Spots on the Wall, by Hu Flung Pu - D7

D7

                The shit hits the fan and splatters against the wall like 80’s abstract art.  Remember spiropaint?  Luke absentmindedly takes off his PFD on a break from the wind and hell while we rest in a bay.  It blows off the stern deck of the boat as he’s not looking, and by the time he tells us it could be (and probably is) miles away.  The trip hunkers down in a mossy wood while Luke and I search a 10 k perimeter of this godforsaken lake for a floating PFD.  After 3 hours of dodging the wrath of God (biblical rain squalls), we are exhausted and roll into the mossy wood.  Murielle has called camp and they said to call back at 6:30.  They may have to send in a float plane – for a fucking lifejacket.  We watch idly as a water plane circles the lake.  We hope it lands 

so we can ask the pilot a favour.  Free PFD?  Lab city is close.  We call camp at 6:30 and are angrily told that our plane has come and gone.  That was us, we missed it.  Thanks for telling us guys.  We schedule another for the next morning, and this time we’ll flag it down instead of letting it fly away.  We paddle 2 k to an Innu cabin.  The stove heats the room to sauna temperatures as we cook on it.  Murielle makes a tofu stir fry while I drift off, exhausted , to the sounds of Luke’s classical guitar picking and a feeling of unfamiliar and welcome humidity.