Woodsy

It was intoxicating

The woodfire smoke
Curling up in ringlets
From the small stone circle
Flames dancing softly

The soft breeze blowing
Shaking golden leaves of the aspen trees
Like so many oversized sequins
Tinkling like little bells

The sound of little drops of water
Falling through the canopy
Layer by layer to the ground
And into the fog below

The woodsy, organic smell
Of the decomposing detritus
Commingling with the smell of the
Camp coffee and clean, wet air

Not a single soul in sight

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