Write about: camping.
Sorry about the late posting, but I didn't have time to schedule anything before we had to leave for our overnight camping trip. Plus I wasn't really thinking we'd be able to go with the way the forecast was looking.
But we did! And it was fun! And after experiencing his very first overnight camping trip, Max definitely wants to do it again. Just look at him:
I think I only took two other pictures while we were gone because I totally wasn't thinking about capturing the occasion. Oh well, at least I got this one.
I'll be back later with Monday's post.
Mine:
The air here is fresh,
Smelling like pines;
Birds are sing-songing,
I'm feeling fine.
Nightfall is coming,
Mosquitoes catch my scent;
If anyone needs me,
I'll be hiding in my tent.
2 comments:
Was that tent Max's, and all the rest of you were huddled outside on the ground? (Though given how hot it's been for you lately that doesn't sound like such a bad option! It definitely looks like you got the weather for it though.
Heh, I think you've mentioned the attraction mosquitoes have for you before, so I suspect there's a large element of truth in your poem. I like it's jauntiness though, despite the need to hide at the end.
Camping
Soraya heard the jingle of tiny bells while she was filling a plastic jug at the stand-pipe. It was like a brief moment of Christmas, despite it being the height of summer, and for an instant she felt a chill across her cheek and the prickle of frost forming on her hands. She checked the jug; it was over three-quarters full and that would be enough, turned the stand-pipe off, and hurried back to her tent.
The campsite had recently opened and was worrying close to an overhang that ascended up then levelled off to become a plateau, atop which was perched the ruins of ancient Axum. Soraya had pitched her tent as far from the overhang as possible, feeling that those people camped under it were just waiting for the overhang to collapse and bury them. As she walked briskly back to the tent, the jug banging heavily against her thighs and the water sloshing noisily in it, she could feel her heart pounding in her chest, and in the distance she could see the tops of the stelae that populated the Field of Obelisks.
At her tent she slowed, and set the jug down. She walked around the tent, her eyes alert for changes and differences, but it wasn't until she got to the dreamcatcher that she found one: the dreamcatcher had been ripped apart. Twigs and leaves were scattered on the dry, dusty soil that smelled oddly fermented, and the bits of tinfoil that she'd twisted into it were scrunched and melted. A single tiny bell, a charm for a bracelet that she'd bought at a flea-market on the way here, rolled this way and that a way further off.
She froze. This wasn't the work of an animal, and most spirits would have been trapped by the dreamcatcher until she could check they meant no harm and set them free again.
Somewhere behind her there was the jangle of a Christmas carillon again, and she turned slowly, her head leading the way, her slim, dark shoulders and delicate hips following after.
A little way away from hers was another tent, this is gaudy reds and yellows, which she'd seen but paid no attention to when setting up. Now it was tilted slightly, the mainpole clearly pulling out of the earth and pulling the tent with it. There was a swirl of dust in front of the tent opening that had nothing to do with the wind, and inside that swirl danced three silver bells, jingling merrily.
"Djinnic," she said softly, needing to speak but not daring to attract its attention. The djinnic was a malevolent spirit that attempted to possess children and weak adults, stealing their bodies and living new lives through them.
From inside the tent she heard a child's voice calling out for its mother.
Greg - hah, no. We squeezed the three of us in there. And the campsite was up in the mountains a little bit so it did get a tad chilly overnight... which was a nice change!
That's some incredible scene setting you pulled off there. The description of the site is great, and I liked the casual mention of the Field of Obelisks.
That final line is rather haunting, I must say. Must be the father in me.
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