“school camp narrative”

Beneath a sky salted with stars, we met  
With backpacks heavy, sneakers damp with dew—  
The morning bus, a jittery vignette  
Of whispered plans and friendships born anew.  

The winding road spilled out to pine and light  
Where canvas tents leaned shyly in the glade.  
Our laughter scattered birds into their flight—  
Adventure, at our feet, and not afraid.  

We learned the forest’s tongue: the woodsmoke, sweet,  
The tap of rain’s applause on metal roof,  
The symphony of crickets at our feet,  
And dreams that danced in shadows, wild and loose.   

We raced the trails, our shouts a sudden stream  
Through banks of ferns and tangles deep with moss.  
We found a fox’s track—a secret seam  
Winking its way through leaf and branch and cross.  

By firelight, the stories curled and twined  
With every marshmallow roasted to gold.  
We spoke of ghosts and games we'd leave behind,  
Of growing up, of fears we never told.  

A constellated ceiling overhead—  
A night so wide, unbroken by our noise.  
We fell asleep with windows in our heads  
To gentle winds and quietly, our joys.  

A week returns in photographs and hearts—  
That little world we built beneath the trees.  
The echo of a camp, as summers start,  
A memory as bright as autumn leaves.

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