Up in the mountains there is a small camp.
Not much more than a lodge, cabins, a pond, and a campground,
But it’s the world to some people.
The volleyball court has memories of the game spoons, where every so often a spoon would disappear.
And the pond has the deep clear water,
And memories of early morning kayaking and messing around with friends.
There’s the cabin where there was a mouse, and a shoe shrunk in front of the heater.
The creek where you went to stand, sit, kneel, lay down, and roll over at 6:30 in the morning if you were daring enough.
Up the hill,
The gold mine has memories of dripping water and cold,
And continuing up the rocky path,
There are memories of sunrises and friends,
The countless hikes, stories, secrets shared, thoughts, wonders that took place
The lodge has memories of mixing hot chocolate and coffee, ping pong, foos ball, tie-dye, and barbeque on Thursdays.
The chapel has memories of singing songs and being silly, sock dodge ball, camp outs, and worship.
Up in the mountains there is a small camp,
Not much more than a lodge, cabins, a pond, and campground,
But it’s the world to me.