November camping…

Empty campground, bright moon, stars engulfing you from every angle.

Brisk air, visible breath, passing moonshine around the fire.

Layering up and sinking into a sleeping bag that slowly but surely hugs you with it’s warmth. 

There’s no silence like that of the early winter forest; so cold that even the hungry curiosities of woodland creatures can’t lure them out. 


There are no sounds other than our own voices, crackling of firewood and the rustling of dead and fallen leaves agitated by an uninvited wind. 

Smoke carries into eyes, long hair blown away from faces. The breeze brings no good, just cold noses and exclamations from the mouths below them. 

Days pass so quickly when you’re disconnected. If only it worked the other way around. 

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