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Relaxing Mornings
The last bag is zipped
The car is started
The exhaust leaves behind a trail of thick black smoke.
Trees stand tall and strong
A fuzzy brown squirrel races to the top.
Gravel crunches under the tires as the car halts.
The poles are struck into the mud like a bolt of lightning.
The tent stands.
Morning comes, the propane oven cooks fresh eggs and sweet potatoes.
Mosquitoes buzz and dice roll.
The golden marshmallows and oozing chocolate make a wonderful meal.
I start swinging in the sun baked hammock.
I rock back and forth, looking up at nature's beautiful design.
Night falls, and rain starts dripping from the sky
Like a faucet.
The fire crackles and pops as firewood slowly burns.
I wake up
Not to a beeping phone,
but to the soothing sound of a river
flowing downstream peacefully.
I get up
Not to worries or expectations,
but to calm, relaxing mornings,
And falling asleep to graceful stars,
Priceless memories.
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This is a poem about camping.