Campfire

I tried to keep the fire lit but I think it was too much.

I had extinguished it many times — I suppose the ashes were just too soaked to keep an ember alive after that. I searched for a while, digging through them with a stick and eventually my hands, collecting soot marks on my skin and eventually my shirt and pants without finding that faint glow I was looking for.

As I packed up the site I looked at my darkened outfit and smiled, remembering all the times I’d spent at this campsite and the memories that accompanied it. It had changed over the years and so had I. I knew once I left this time it might be the last, so while I packed I made sure to take it all in.

I had a feeling when I arrived for this trip that it would be my last time here — the difficulty to start the fire on the first night, a fire which once roared with ease, was my first sign so I committed myself to enjoying all that was in what little time I had left.

The stars at this site are spectacular.
If you stared hard enough and if the night was clear enough you could see the Milky Way spread across the sky like a birthmark. I too often would stare at my phone in the tent rather than gaze up with contentment at them. I hope I find a new place where they look just as bright.

The woods were full of adventure. Rocks to climb and creeks to traverse, one foot in front of the other on a fallen log, smiles and giggles the whole way across.
I never took those for granted because they were always my favorite adventures. Thinking about them makes me smile every time. I know more lie ahead.

The warmth of the fire was what I always looked forward to. That I am going to miss more than anything. I can build 100 fires in 100 different places but that particular place just burned different. Always just the right temperature — which is a silly thing to say about a fire but it’s true, never blowing smoke into your face, and always still smoldering in the morning, even after a heavy rain, ready to be lit up again. The crackle of it mixed with the sounds of the forest and nearby ocean through the trees made me feel at home.

After the blanket gets rolled onto my backpack and after the pot is hung on the side carabiner I take out an old cigar tin where I keep the things I need to stay dry. I stick my hand in the ashes one last time and scoop out a handful and place it into the tin. After stuffing it into the backpack and throwing that over my shoulders I begin my trek out. I’ll throw the ash into my next campfire at my next campsite so a piece of it comes with me.

A few miles from the trailhead it starts to rain again. The water washes some of the dirt and soot off me but some streaks across my hand causing a pain on some wound I was unaware I had.
I’ll check it out when I get home later. Maybe I cut it on a stick.
It feels like a burn though.