The second poem in my Mount Rogers/Grayson Highlands series was inspired by an accumulation of nighttime memories from the trail. Night in the outdoors carries a certain restlessness, an unpredictability, insecurity. Simultaneously, it is a luxurious time of rest, peace, and satisfaction. With the limitation of sight, the other senses heighten their awareness.
Early this morning, I woke early to the setting of the moon, with bright stars over frosted grass. I shared a shelter with Oz, Rover, Captain Chaos, and Dr. Jones. We slept together peacefully. On other nights, I woke to quickly pull a rain fly over the tent, or to helplessly feel a squall of wind and rain blow into our shelter, or to hear thunderous wind and rain. The night itself can be restless. Or, like tonight and many other nights, it can settle delicately. Mentally, I find night to be mostly a time of satisfaction and gratitude, when there seems to be plenty, one day complete, another’s possibilities on the brink. It’s dreamy, not fully aware, transitional – one day to another, wakefulness to sleep and back again.
We also passed a distance milestone
