I camped one night along a lonely stream
One rarely traveled on
For it was shallow and required portage
Too many times.

But it was a pleasant little stream
Water clear as crystal
Spring fed mostly and freezing to my skin
Dense woods crowed every bank.

Sometimes cliffs rose to several stories high
Bedecked with roots and vines
Water oozing from a thousand  tiny cracks
A welcome place for mosses.

My camp was on a shelf in one such cliff
More like a shallow cave
But dry enough for sleeping bag on pad
And all my other stuff.

For I had traveled lightly for this trip
Portage gets very wearing
Kevlar canoe at less than fifty pounds
Pack another twenty.

Freeze dried foods for little weight and volume
But filled with energy
Unattractive too to furry things at night
And no need for cooking stove.

My shelf had a commanding view
Beyond low trees across the stream a meadow
A pleasant pastoral scene
No evidence of farming here about.

The last rays of the sun were now setting
Very dark with no moon
But a billion stars soon filled a crowded sky
Enough light to see quite far.

One never bores of seeing a good night sky
Cities take that view away
Who in cities ever sees a shooting star
Or sees the seven sisters.

Marsh gas I see now rising
The meadow has taken on a eerie glow
Ripe for superstition
But I see only nature at her very best.

It is nights like this that bring me to these places
I drink in all its beauty
For all the trouble to find this magic place
A solitude reward.
.
I would stay up all this night just to see these stars
But morning comes too soon
And tomorrow I return to city life and troubles
With soul refreshed by nature’s wonders.