Returning to the Yakoun River

Clocks have no meaning at the river. Instead, we follow the coming and going of the tides. This morning my father and uncle will row out with the tide to the mouth of the river to set the nets. I have just emptied my cereal bowl when they finish loading the boat. I walk out onto the wooden steps of the cabin and watch them row into the distance. Even though it is early June, the air is still cool in the morning, I can see my father’s brown woollen hat balanced on his head and his green rubber rain jacket as he fades into the mist of the inlet.