The fire burning high and bright,
a new companion telling tales,
an old companion at your side,
the night-time calls of whip-poor-wills.
A new companion telling tales,
a mug of tea in warming hands,
all pressure off of cooling heels,
sweet solace from the trail’s demands.
If tea is spiked warms more than hands,
a voice may raise in joke or song,
till eyebrows droop with night-time sands,
the fire smolders low and long.
No more a voice no joke or song,
the fire mere memory of bright,
snores help next leg of hike along,
dreams test the tales tomorrow night.
Latest posts by Keith David Parsons (see all)
- Trailfire - 14th May 2021
- White Mountains, Ten Hues - 11th December 2020