THE ENCAMPMENT

I can smell that purple sage
and set that tumble weed rolling
as I pitch it sailing with the toe
of this old worn leather boot

There’s nowhere like Saratoga
pitching our tent along side the
frothing current of the Encampment
and building that great open fire.

Across the stream, mountain lions
cautiously observe us frying steaks
and I wonder that but for that river
and our fire, we might not be their dinner.

Ah sunset! purple and gold; a patch of
bright orange streaking the middle; later,
an ebony sky and threee-dimensional stars you
could pick like flowers of the heavens.

Tranquillity. It is silent. Except...
the call of a bird, croak of a frog or the
rustle of the bushes where our friends the
big cats still wait across the river.

The campfire burns on through the night.
as family and good friends remember
other camps and stories of other times in
Saratoga beside the Encampment River..

M JajdelskiCampbell
Copyright May 2004