Camping Again
by Wilda Morris

I had forgotten the chill of wakening
in an unheated cabin nestled in the woods,

the icy feel of the arm which slipped
from the sleeping bag before dawn;

the thud of a child falling
from the top bunk to the wooden floor;

how twittering robins broadcast morning news
among leafy birches, ash trees and oaks;

the brightness of light slipping through a space
between leaves into an uncovered cabin window;

the penetration of cold dew through slippers
on the walk from cabin to shower;

the welcome aroma of hot chocolate
and pancakes on a cool morning at camp.



 

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