Sasquatch Country
Shooting stars punctuate our family conversation. The city noise we left last week is replaced by hooting owls.
campfire stories
we take turns stirring
the embers
Suddenly, the woods fall
silent and a heavy pungence overpowers the sweet scent of s'mores. I feel the
hairs rise on the back of my neck.
Dad stands and picks
up the rifle. "Something's out there; you kids stay quiet," he
whispers. Mom grabs her cast iron camp skillet and calmly leads us back to our
cabin. The lake shimmers with moonlight.
pine sough
the crisp edge of mountain air
deepens the witching hour
The next morning Dad and I rise early, gather our fishing gear and head out.
Sage-colored trout shadows dart ahead of our waders. We never mention the
previous night.
empty creel
the music of creek water
lures us upstream
haikuKATHA #13, Nov 2022
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