Maya Rose B: Camp Myrtlewood (Day 5)

I am meant to write something here and the words arrive tangled in thorny brush. The Douglas fir at camp that we affectionately call the climbing tree is most difficult to climb for the first few branches, and then after that the spacing becomes even and the movements smooth out into each other. Beginning writing a piece is not so different. There is too much to say – just how looking up from the ground the great tree seems a daunting feat to get to the top of. Yet we do, and we sway with the birds and the breeze calms our thumping hearts.

Here we are. I came back. Something that in itself is wondrous – an act of return to the same grounds, the same earth, the same stars ringed by black crowns of trees. My body arriving to the same space in time. There are things I remember, there are things that are the same. There are things that have changed. There are things that have stayed the same about the self, and things that have changed about the self, through the slow march of a year.

In this blog post I suppose I am meant to recount the day to you – it’s merits and sights and songs and laughter. Today I laughed so hard and sang so loud my throat gave out and I danced so much that my legs could hardly carry me to bed. Today I put together a group and we talked about the inheritance of grief and incorporating our parent’s stories into our writing. Today I sat by the river and let the water smooth out the crinkles in my breath. Today I sang two songs I love at karaoke night, unashamedly horribly, accompanied by amazing people. Today I watched the light through the trees. Today I talked with people I love dearly and with those who I do not know well but would be overjoyed to know more about. Today I got the last piece of blackberry cobbler by sheer luck. Today I had probably five cups of tea. Today I watched the stars.

Karaoke went on joyously past quiet hour and died out a little after eleven. I slept in the field with some other folks. It was an unusually cold night, but there were no clouds as there had been for the past couple days. Most of the shooting stars were quick, thin bursts of light, a star pinhead with a single glowing tail. I closed my eyes for a while and the moment I opened again there was a shooting star that crossed across the night sky much larger than the others. Streaks of white light came out from it in a distinctive classic star shape, and one large white tail followed it, accompanied by two others. I felt a lightness.

I always wish for the same thing.

Maya Rose B, camper