It's camping season. The sky is clear, the air is getting more crisp, and our car smells like the black stuff you get when your marshmallow catches on fire.
Here I am, long after the excitement has faded and every person has left. Sitting outside, I gaze out at the woods around my house hoping, wishing for more.
But why?
Could it be the way my shoulders ache from carrying heavy boxes down the long, bumpy trail? Or perhaps the bathroom devoid of hot water, soap, and a working hand dryer?
I don't know.
Maybe it's the scant five hours of sleep I got, the majority of which took place on the ground, minus a tent. Or it could've been wandering in circles around the campsite by flashlight at 2 am, while trying to calm down a spazzing teenager.
I really couldn't tell you.
But it's something. It's in the air as autumn approaches. It muddles my mind one moment, then solved enigmas the next. And while I dwell on the thought, my internal jukebox plays the same line of the same song over and over again--and I know it speaks the truth.
"...So in love / with the notion / of being in love..."
Well...camping season isn't over yet...
-cassandra