My writing...reflections...poems...pictures...projects...life...in Maine.
Ahh, I know those rainy days. Love the words "airy ashes".
"Campfire memories of marshmallows"...delicious memories. :-)
What! Are you really camping? Is this just a gray day taking you back? I remember digging trenches so the tent wouldn't leak. I love the rhythm, Donna, just like the tap, tap on the roof of the rain.
No camping for me! Just memories of smokey campfires now, as the chimney smoke hovers near the ground from all this rain! Trenching the tents - wow! I just thought of a camp story with teens I taught in a problem solving class one summer. Maybe another slice from memories...a slice remembered
I really like that the grey rain is 'creating' in your poem! And the 'wet smoke - airy ashes - pressed down' Thanks!
I connect with your poem. It reminds me of the times I went to camp as a kid.Wet smoke, airy ashes, pressed down(reminds me of the leaves on the path)on the path, campfire memories- I have so many memories...of marshmallows- we made s'mores,and sang songs while sitting on logs around the fire. I can still see the single smore stream the from the fire after it was "doused". "Thanks for the memories." Happy Slicing! :)
I love the line "Grayed out day". I can see the doused fire. :)
Drop some breadcrumbs! Let me know you were here!