Camping

Babies crying in an orange, Evening breeze. Instead of hot dogs I get slobber. Nudging branches away from the soft and sweet head, Geraniums droop into view while we climb. Her elbows folds tight against my body, safe from the forest chill. Unknown shrieks are heard somewhere deep in the verdant, carpet of trees. Mila chucks her nook in response, complete, blind confidence in herself. Ascending to the dirt road troubles ease as we flatten out. Never had we a care, never had we a worry.