I wait at camp all day. But waiting is not right.
I accomplish.
I relax.
I gain confidence with the bosses gone.
I finally converse with a coworker,
as we blend sweet fruit, tangy juice, delicious dairy, and nuttiness and toast to the many qualities of each other and camp.
I am called an artist, as I paint the crevices in the wood that spell language.
I explain wilderness, tell part of my story, and then am asked "my goal for the future."
I tell them I can only give a philosophical answer at this time.
"To have fun," I say, quoting a friend.
I dance under the clouds as they make way for stars,
for a whole song with no one watching.
The rain teased us. Tension settled from yesterday.
Tonight's evening activity?
Poetry Night.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment