So, camping with the BabyMonkey? Really, he's not quite 9 months. And this is not fun, the camping thing, with all the monkeys; MamaMonkey is doing exactly what she does at home, only having to walk several hundred yards for (questionably potable) water to wash the dishes...
In the early morning, the fog rolls in, erasing first the mountains, then the hills, then the treetops, then the lake, then everything outside of the tiny little flame I lit that lapped up, lapped up, lapped up, chewed into the logs... A perfectly unbelievable thing, sitting in this cloud, little baby nursing wrapped in his quilt, cut off from everything, even the tent that holds the rest of my family... Oh this fog, slithering down the mountains, across the ground up to my very feet, blinding, binding...
Warmth of the babe on my breast, warmth of the fire beginning to crackle, warmth of the coffee in the percolator beginning to burble... The Crane begins its monologue...
Yes, camping with the baby. With any of the monkeys. In any of the circumstances. Finally I can just be overwhelmed, floored into silence, reverent again...
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment