The prayers are done,
the tear-wet faces wiped,
and dinner waits in the green trailer.

We are a hundred strong,
atop the hills cast in alpine glow.

It is downhill,
the camp is in the distance,
and we run like elk,
down
down
in the milky light of evening.

The shock absorbers of our knees
take the beating of the downhill running,
finding our footing like hungry mountain goats,
we tackle the rocks and live oak trees,
and sheep grazing meadows,
over bay leaves and sharp grasses.

Across the field the brothers and sisters
charge into their respective showers.
We crowd for the spigots
as the water turns COLD and
we share disgusting dripping towels,
laughing like little kids.

We dress in our best,
we sing (often off key),
we eat dinner and ice cream,
as the chilly evening rolls in,
as the crickets throb,
as we feel the exuberance and hope of our youth.

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