Thursday, December 22, 2011

Like Waiting For Santa Claus

'twas the night before walkabout
and my bags are packed
the camping stove tested
My sleepy brain racked

The bike rack is mounted
The cooler's been cleaned
Our camp kettle's washed up
And the SUV preened

We've got plenty of staples
For our cooking fire
And a whole host of starter logs
To fuel up our pyre.

There'll be clear skies, cloudy skies
Perhaps a little snow
If we're dusted, I'm ready
I can't imagine the show...

I'll unzip my tent on Christmas
Bitter cold on my face
And stare out with wonder
Transported, in-place

For I'm only a stranger
When I borrow this land
I'll behold it with reverence
Like the first time...
or the last time...
I'll ever see it again.

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