Our church is going on a campout...

 

Tents with sand tracked in

and river-soaked clothes tossed

over sleeping bags.

A trail of trampled brush 

leading to a brilliant fire

bursting with heat and crowded with

rosy-cheeked roasters.

Marshmallows oozing

slowly

down rippled graham crackers,

dripping like sticky rain 

onto my shoes.

Chocolate melting,

seeping and blending with the white and

brown, but

for now it's still

rich and deep as your dark eyes

or the night sky,

whichever is closer to perfect.

Wind stinging my face,

smoke in my hair,

dirt crusted under my fingernails

stubbornly refusing to leave.

Which is rather a lot 

like you,

I'm beginning to realize.

Days fly by

disappearing quicker than

steaming cocoa on a cozy

winter's eve - but some people

stay.

People like you. 

It seems that 

you learn new things

when you leave the plastic city behind

and give nature your soul

for a night.

Maybe we should camp

more often.