|We sometimes find wild raspberries or|
I keep a journal, and somehow being up there in the woods always brings out my poetic side. One morning before breakfast I wrote this in my journal. I've never shared a part of my personal journal before, so this is a little scary. But I loved this when I re-read it later, so I hope you enjoy it too.
|Context: campfire donuts are deep fried bread dough|
covered in cinnamon sugar. One of my favorite things
I was too tired to write last night. I hardly got any reading done even, I started a new book and I just haven't gotten far enough into it for it to hold my attention while I'm tired.
I don't know what time it is. Probably earlier than I normally get up when I don't have to get up for anything. It's still cool enough that the fire is pleasant to sit by, we're trying to prepare the fire to cook oil for campfire donuts. Patience.
Pale sun is just peeking through the clouds and trees, casting the shadow of my hand on the page. It also starts to warm me, though barely. There is a constant cool breeze moving the air, although I would hardly notice it if not for the sound in the trees and the plume of smoke. Occasionally the wind strengthens, and I am warned by a roaring from afar which slowly comes near, until I am surrounded by swaying and rustling, noise and movement. It's like I'm on a ship, only the waves are above.
It smells clean. It smells of moist dirt, wood, a pure morning breeze. It smells of fire, of comforting warmth, of rich, woody smoke.
I see a ball, each tree dressed to dance to the music of the wind. The slender birch and popple in their grey and white, especially eager at any hint of a note. They join the wind, giving it the movement and sound that I love.
My stomach is growling, waiting for the oil to get hot!
The oaks and maples, and other trees I don't know, are calmer and steadier. They don't sway so much nor move their branches and leaves so much. But when the strong waves of music come, rustling in the distance warning us of their approach, they dance at their arrival.