Stars slowly evaporate against the steel-blue of a new day. From their nests in the dusky fir and pine, yesterday's birds on the wing are this morning's most certain song. The sound of the creek remains deeper and more enduring. I find a motherly comfort in the endless sound of water murmuring along the length of creek at my door.
The
simple dinner Desiree and I shared at the campfire in the soft glow of last
evening's final mountain light proved better than the most expensive meal I
have ever committed to my credit card. Nothing beats campfire food. And the
hours I spend deep in the mountains repair all that is torn within me.
The
other day, a little girl, out of nowhere, stared up at Desiree's face and
pronounced, “You look good!” She repeated, “You look so good.” This morning,
sitting here sipping at my too-strong coffee, I am waiting for Desiree to stir.
She
is good.
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Desiree
at the Campfire
—Mitchell
Hegman
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