We hadn't been camping in years.
I wondered, briefly, if it was possible to reclaim it, after everything.
Nostalgia lingered in the way the tent rustled as we prepared for night, in the way the lantern glinted off our camp kitchen,
And little by little, victory:
These, now, were the good memories.
The ones where stories were told,
Songs were sung,
Prayers were prayed,
And art was made.
The next morning, the river-song drew us ever closer
Past and present blurring together
Lord, help me capture the shine,
The mid-morning glow,
And file it where it overwrites the shadows.
(11 July 2025)
Final version, 6×6 inches, oil pastel on toned paper.
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