Camping

Sitting alone, knitting by the fire, I can hear the chatter of children as they wind down and try to sleep. Footsteps crunch on the gravel roads as flashlights pass by. Someone uses a manual pump to inflate an air mattress; the kind that squeaks with each press of your foot.

These are the sounds of my childhood.

Sitting alone, surrounded by dark, I feel the warmth of the flames, the cool air on my face. The camp chair beneath me. A full belly within me; hotdogs, chips and s’mores.

These are the sensations of comfort.

Sitting alone, my eyes getting heavy, I smell those scents only found in this setting. Leftover barbeque, pine trees, river water, trampled down dirt, my freshly washed hoodie.

These are the smells of home.

Sitting alone, but so aware of my people close by in tents, I feel my heart full. The setting reminds me of my parents, my siblings, my family of origin. My early life was warm, safe and full of love.

Sitting here, I realize how lucky I was to grow up that way, and how blessed I am to have found the same thing in adulthood.

Sitting alone in this moment, but as always, surrounded by love.

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