Thursday, May 14, 2009

Camping Word Painting

I am up early listening to the dawn chorus outside my window and the long haunting call of a passing train. So I decided I wanted to post something and this is what the slightly chilly air from my open window reminded me of.

Camping Word Paintings...

Awakening from a restless sleep, the cool crisp mountain air filled her head as she stumbled out of bed, thirsty. The smell of the polyester tent and stale campfire smoke on their clothing was her next awareness as she fumbled in the dark for her shoes and jacket, she could feel the cool bite in the air.

She unzipped the tent, the sound odd in the stillness of the morning, when no other foreign sound disturbed the primordial song of the morning chorus. A yawning awareness of the faint faded tones of the morning came over her as she walked toward the motor home to grab a cup.

The smell of the grasses and the water from the stream was as mana to her city sensibilities. She was still sleepy, thought she though longingly of sitting by the embers of the bonfire to listen to the birds and the last efforts of the crickets to communicate in the early dawn.

She reached the water spigot and lifted the handle and a sucking sound, followed by an ever increasing gurgling came up from the pipe. Water finally reached the apex and spilled over and she lowered the handle a bit to stem the tide of rushing water, then got herself a drink.

The freezing cold water hit her stomach with a sting and it growled at her in hunger. She finished off the cup then got some more water draining that cup as well.

The hunger pains subsided a bit, and she decided that sitting by the mostly cold fire pit would be uncomfortable and lonely, like the longing for bright flames and warmth from a friend.

So she unzipped the tent again and made her way back to her sleeping bag and pillow. The upper part of the bag had grown cold and it made her shiver to feel it and the freezing pillow against her cheek. Her legs found some remnants of warmth though and she rubbed her feet together and against the blanket to create some warmth from the friction.

Everyone else in the tent was sleeping soundly, a few even snoring, which was slightly annoying and slightly amusing.

She rubbed her arms with her long sleeves pulled down over her hands trying to get the chill off her skin, then turned over to warm the other side of her face. After a lot of rubbing and clenching together of the blankets and sleeping bag, she finally felt warmed up and she listened to the song of the birds, now distant, as she drifted off to sleep again.

1 comment:

Karen said...

Beautifully written and thanks for the journey - I was right there.

Have a wonderful day!

P.S. I love photo on the bottom of the right column and the quote, "Give me mountains for give me death." That's just how I feel about these incredible Wasatch Mountains.