Just got back from a campout. A short two-nighter with the family and a group of folks that we see every year at the end of July.
I brought a book hoping that I would finish reading it before Sunday. Maybe I'll finish it before Monday.
The first night brought rain, and the second night a meteor shower. I spent the second half of the first night in the truck where the rain couldn't reach me, and on the second night I watched the milky way gently curve over the night sky while my sister and our Roman-obsessed friend stared up at the lights. My sister wondered where the fire-flies have gone. I wondered how the yearly scary story was progressing.
The story was well-narrated by one of my best friends. He told about dark spirits who stole a lovers' friend away after he wished for and received her love.
The weekend felt quiet. My spirits were tame. When I compare this summer with the first summer I became friends with everyone, I seem to have become a softer presence, and yet I was involved in all the "happenings."
Last night ended with a discussion of scary movies, and I drifted off to sleep in a tent with my sister after attempting to forget the visions of knives and floating bodies that ended the conversation around the campfire.