PhotoPoetics™

I’m not a camper.

I’ve been invited many times. I never go.

I suppose it has something to do with:

the legions of buzzing
flying and crawling creatures
I imagine would compete to share my space

the cradling comforts and conveniences
missing from the vastness
of the allegedly great outdoors

or

the fear of being plunged into darkness
once the last embers of a fire’s crackling wood
no longer light the night

but

I’ve been given reasons to reconsider:

meeting sleep
below the countless stars
that glow against the velvet of a darkened sky

sharing the surprise
stirred by sounds
deep within spaces that until that moment lay silent

and

sweetness held in camping ready cans
smoothly poured
over breakfasts
cooked in the crisp open air

I’m not a camper
but I’m beginning to believe
someday I might

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