Highway 60 breezes past|
waving in reams of Queen Anne's lace
and the soft blues of roadside chicory,
old pickup trucks,
and a field of sunflowers
glowing in the afternoon sun.
I have three days with friends
at a camp site
replete with a fire ring
and a rich supply of wood.
Four dogs punctuate the days and nights,
each with a unique personality
and charming attentiveness
especially if bacon
is close to the table edge.
If dogs' eyes could talk
they would hope aloud
for human goodies to levitate
over to dogs' open mouths
moved by the sheer willpower of dogs.
Coffee, Dan's artwork, Dianne's humor, gourmet meals, stories
laughter, time well spent with friends,
cicadas buzzing under the shifting forest canopy colors.
Later, our ears are tuned to the sounds changing
with the deepening shades of the sky
and movements in the gathering night.
Some dark corners of the undergrowth
can glow with some wide-set eyes, says Joette,
and more company than we plan for...
The night grows extra quiet, and the wind rises,
makes chords through the trees,
which collectively become
a waving, gyrating hillside musical instrument in the darkness.
Then the rain starts, tentatively pattering
on campers and cabins
and it increases to a thick percussion, pushed by wind
sounding like piano keys all played at once.
The morning wakes up clean and wet.
We have tasty biscuits and gravy made by Curt
and then we must pack and go home
but plan for more adventures and campfire time soon!
*written with Joette G
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