Camp Memories

Whenever I smell pine trees and firewood
I am at camp in midsummer
and I am singing songs,
drinking hot chocolate,
listening to people’s testimonies
and laughing with friends.

The mosquitoes are feasting on the ones
who didn’t spray on enough bug spray
I can hear the loon calling on the lake
and wait for its partner to respond.

But this is not my story. My story is
the last wiener roast, the last good bye
from the rowdy campers
It is the frantic cleaning of the cabins
and taking one last look at the lake
It is the exhaustion on the ride home
It is the longing for next summer
When my story starts all over again
With new characters, problems and heroes.

October 2005