Reader, we have been away. Briefly. But sometimes briefly is long enough.
We went camping with some friends in the most lovely and secluded little spot just north of the Golden Gate. On Saturday, we packed like mad, drove up through the summer fog in the city, pitched our camp in the chilly morning air, then camped fast and furious. The kids melded into a roving pack that played capture the flag on a WWII bunker, swam in the frigid Pacific, buried eachother in the sand, made war against some very bold raccoons, and devoured untold numbers of s’mores. The adults swapped it’s-a-small-world stories around the campfire, shared the joys and challenges of family life, applied multiple coats of sunscreen to myriad limbs, cheeks, and noses, and took turns feeding the faces of the roving pack of children.
It was sheer bliss, even the sleeping on the ground part. Although, I do seem to have a camping hangover, despite the strongest drink having been instant coffee. I’m told we arrived home again yesterday afternoon, at which point I began working through a large hillock of laundry. I’m told we all showered to scrub the sand and the campfire out of our hair. I have some memory of scrambling around the house this morning and dragging the kids along to a poetry date (which was, for the benefit of the kids, at a park). I have barely stumbled back to my desk, where it has come to my attention that the Mail Order Bride rides again.
Actually, I was expecting her sometime soon, so it wasn’t a complete surprise. But, I’m so happy to share with you a few more Mail Order Bride poems, and one other poem, that are up at Escape Into Life. Escape Into Life is an exciting online venue for literature and visual art. If you haven’t already, I strongly suggest you spend some time browsing and taking it all in — it’s a really wonderful site. I’m so honored to have my work there, paired with evocative photographs by Jennifer Zwick. Thank you to poetry editor Kathleen Kirk for selecting my work for publication at EIL.
And now, I’m going to try splashing some cold water on my face to see if I can emerge from my camping brain-fog. Something tells me there’s still some laundry in need of attention, and I know for a fact certain people will be expecting dinner in a few hours. Which I will cook with a smile on my face, giving thanks for all that’s beautiful in the world — fog and cargo ships, parks and poetry, small upturned faces brown from the sun — all of that and more.