Disjointed vibrations float
On the waves of
The Great Blue Heron Ocean
Until they shift into
Vaporous eels,
Who swim into my open ears,
Then disintegrate.

Drum circles, and bluegrass,
Laughter from a brand of happy
Unique to the Heron,
And snippets of conversations
That become strange one-liners
From our enchanted menagerie.

“Dude, are my lips all, like, thick?”

“...and when she opened her hand,
she had a hundred dollar bill in it!”

In the black of forest's night,
“Thank God for the glow-stick people,
Or I'd NEVER find my way to my tent!!!”

And from all across the spiral of camps,
The universal Heron greeting,
“Happy Heron” shouted
Like a chorus round,
Making its way across the sites
Until our near-entire population
Answers with an ethereal
“Yeowoooooooooooooo.”

The wind is worshiped
For the relief it brings
In small breaths that
Whisk away the sheen
Of a sweaty heat.

Dappled sunlight spins
On sappling's tiny, dancing leafs.
They applaud,
Begging the wind
For nine thousand curtain calls.

My nose captures all manner of aromas
That drift into a campy soup made of
Patchouli, sweet grass,
Bacon and deep woods insect repellent;
We unsuccessfully resist
Simmering in the mid-morning heat,
Yet our enchantment
Remains.

07/08/2012