The cool crisp air of September pinches the lobe of my ear,

brackets and poles dump out of the diminutive drawstring bag, shaping into a soundful shelter for the weekend.

The morning dew on the crunchy grass sinks through my nylon shoes,

red flimsy leaves surround the forest sideline like a wall.

The sun whispered a gentle goodbye, disappearing from the once purple and orange sky,

I struck the red tipped match, flipping it into the flamboyant birch based fire.

The fire provided comfort, like a mother with her newborn,

fuel fed the fire, supporting its salvation, increasing the size of blanket it gave me.

The indulging full moon overcame the sky, like a delicious block of swiss cheese,

stars spaced congruently every inch of the deep black sky.

The stars sung a lullaby song as the moon reached out and shut my eyes,

ashes flew up like fireflies, the fire finished the appetizer for the night.

The smell of sizzling sausage smacked me in the face as morning came,

my sleeping bag locked me in, not allowing me to escape.

The bright baby blue sky blinded me as I unzipped the troublesome tent door,

smells of grease on the griddle carried me to the table on a palanquin.

The shoelaces of my boot tightened around my ankle like a snake and its prey,

we were off on our hike at High Cliff park with views of the horizon.

The luxurious lake glistened and glowed in the corner of my eye,

gloating its beauty like fireworks on the fourth of july.

The low trees and branches burrowed beneath our view of Winnebago,

we had to get higher as we climbed the one hundred foot tower.

The strength of the wind grew stronger, building muscle as we climbed,

my cheeks turned rosey red with the crisp touch of the air.

The essence of the endless blue lake made my eyes jump with joy,

Fluffy green tree tops gave compliments to the lake with passion.

The clouds were like cotton pillows giving condolence to the sky,

I couldn’t believe the view I had, nature was too good to me.