We stayed there a week,
on a field of grass
bordered by bush and the sound of the river.
I created a sundial out of a tent peg and stones.
Sun poured over everything
and we would sit reading for hours
under the shade of poplars.
We followed the shadows as they moved over the grass,
until evening, when the orange glow of sun
was warm against the arriving night.
One day we went in to town for supplies.
On the drive back to the campsite
we stopped at a bank of grass beside the road,
spread out a blanket, and picnicked on greasy pizza
and chocolate milk.
Golden hills of grass surrounded us,
scattered with a white lace of flowers.
We brought back a small tub of ice cream
and kept it with a bag of ice in the chilly bin,
snuggled up under the flax overnight.
In the morning it had melted to cold, thick cream.
When it got hot we swam through pools of deep water,
bordered by islands of rock.
When I lay down in the tent all I could see was blue,
and the silvery leaves of a tree stretching out above me.
Our days ended as it got dark.
We would zip up the tent
and brush our teeth looking at the moon.
We were there when the moon was full –
large and bright between the ancient forest trees
laden with moss.
At night we washed in the river;
warm rain landed on our coats and shoes.
Velvety black water flowed over rocks soft with algae.
One night the moon rose directly above the river,
a silver path of light shimmered off ripples and
we stood with water flowing around us,
soaking up the moonlight glowing on our faces.
On our last night, during sunset,
mist crept in from the forest and from the river,
and a rainbow formed, stretching out above the hill.
Driving home we stopped by the side of the road
and walked through a field of sunflowers.