I Remember...
I remember the feel of waiting in the woods. Whispering to my fellow campers in hushed, excited tones. Watching the rest of camp fill in the logs surrounding the all-sacred campfire. We were different. For one night our cabin got special seats on the logs and the honor of performing the nightly skit for the rest of camp. Everyone is here. For a moment all of us are silent, waiting. Then one steps out of the woods and welcomes the rest to Campfire. Another steps out and begins a cabin check.
“Cabin one?”
“All here.”
A log falls into the flames, sending out a shower of sparks that hang in the sky like stars.
“Cabin 15?”
“All here.”
Now we can start. For another moment the camp is silent, save for the cackling snap of the fire. Then come the hushed whispers from the woods, “Go!” The first person steps out. They mount the small, wooden platform we call the stage. They call out, “For this skit we’ll need a volunteer. Someone who’s never been here before.”
It’s finally started! The rest of the skit passes in a blur. It is over too soon. We take our seats on the special log, the crowd chuckling. Once the laughter dies down I rise. I call out to the camp, “It’s time to get into our friendship circle!”
The whole camp rises and walks a few steps closer to fire. We all join hands and, as one, start to sing. “Kumbayah, my lord. Kumbayah.” I tilt my head back and breathe. I smell the comforting smoke, the damp earth, the night air. I hear splashes in the lake and the crickets joining in our chorus. In those moments it doesn’t matter who you are, who you’re holding hands with, or if your voice is good. In those moments we are one; we are a family.
In this journal I worked to improve ideas and word choice. This is probably my favorite. It just makes me happy when I read it.
“Cabin one?”
“All here.”
A log falls into the flames, sending out a shower of sparks that hang in the sky like stars.
“Cabin 15?”
“All here.”
Now we can start. For another moment the camp is silent, save for the cackling snap of the fire. Then come the hushed whispers from the woods, “Go!” The first person steps out. They mount the small, wooden platform we call the stage. They call out, “For this skit we’ll need a volunteer. Someone who’s never been here before.”
It’s finally started! The rest of the skit passes in a blur. It is over too soon. We take our seats on the special log, the crowd chuckling. Once the laughter dies down I rise. I call out to the camp, “It’s time to get into our friendship circle!”
The whole camp rises and walks a few steps closer to fire. We all join hands and, as one, start to sing. “Kumbayah, my lord. Kumbayah.” I tilt my head back and breathe. I smell the comforting smoke, the damp earth, the night air. I hear splashes in the lake and the crickets joining in our chorus. In those moments it doesn’t matter who you are, who you’re holding hands with, or if your voice is good. In those moments we are one; we are a family.
In this journal I worked to improve ideas and word choice. This is probably my favorite. It just makes me happy when I read it.