Quiet all night and dark.
And cooler than we keep
the house. And, of course,
all noises- the wind and
leaves, footsteps in gravel,
rain at three AM- and the
absence of other noises-
the electric hum of our
house, the opening and
shutting of doors, traffic-
until a little after seven
and the beginning light as
it filters through the blue
walls of the tent and the
strange immediacy of
someone's voice on the
other side, and first one,
then many dogs barking
and car doors and tires,
the slow rolling out to find
firewood, coffee. A whistle
of tents unzippering, the
lighting of stoves and wood
fires, cracks, the thunk of
an axe in the distance, then
conversations, the crescendo
of a campground, all of the
sounds born from sunlight.
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