but in the end I'll always will feel most comfortable and happy and at home when I am outdoors around a campfire.
I've just been thinking about that.
Putting my clothes into my new closet.
How I miss just sitting outdoors and having the smoke in my face. Trying to get the fire going. Kneeling in dirt. That's me right there. And then with an old guitar, singing songs that go straight into heaven, where the stars are. With the smoke. Lingering in the trees for a moment just to fly off seconds later. Then rolling myself together in a damp sleeping bag. Getting warm slowly. Hearing the others sleep. Maybe staying awake, staring into the fire and keeping it going so the others won't freeze or get burnt. Guarding. Then waking someone up to take another shift and drifting away into a light slumber.
Then a deep sleep. And waking up with the dew and the first sun rays. And the birds. And Borbeth. One eye open. Making myself get out of the sleeping bag, uh, so cold and greeting the day. Never have I been closer to God nor to myself than during those days and nights.
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