Boatman

(Volta river, Ada, Ghana.)

The clouds close overhead,
the water takes on a grey hue, mutedly shining like some molten metal,
the treeline in the distance is unchanged, muted and graceful now as it was in the sun.

The boatman is standing, one leg on the boat's edge,
a long oar piercing into the water, perhaps it could churn the molten silver all around, if he were a hero in an epic.

I try in vain to photograph the beauty of him, old man in an old boat,
strong, weather-worn, old.
Should I ask him first? He is too far. And moreover, he is part of the river.