Camping in the Adirondacks
by Vaughn Neeld

(after “the evening sun turned crimson,”
from the book title by Herbert Hunke.)

At the dock, boats wait, jogging in place.
Midges buzz above the scree on shore.

Water weeds sway to an evening rhythm.
Flip-flops and beach towels adorn the deck.

From the east, twilight silently creeps
past the pines, the creek, the cabin.

Beyond the mountains,
the evening sun turns crimson.

Lazing in the hammock, I watch the show,
then throw a kiss to the red-cheeked sun.



 

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