Wet

I am fiftyish
Too old to go
Backpacking all
Alone in the spring
Gila wilderness but I
Am foolish desperate
To smell the pines hear
The river’s laughter over
Rocks as I lie awake in my
Tent under a pine tree on a
Bed of pine needles covered
By my unrolled foam mattress
Warm and dry in a light rainfall
I hear the raindrops plop onto my
Tent dripping down through the
Tall pine branch to branch as
I read my history paperback
My head resting on my old
Rolled jacket my wet pair
Of boots in a big plastic
Bag at the bottom of
My sleeping bag as
My flashlight ever
So slowly dims
When I hear a
Noise in the
Night just
Outside
My tent
Close
Then smile
Recognizing
The sound as
Elk coming down
Their trail to drink
Snuffling at all of my
Strange smells from a
Score of treks in the wild
Glad to be here dry but not
As alone as I imagined so as
I muse on being alone my family
Far away I think some folks really
Like being alone but I prefer to be
Part of a couple sharing each
Experience though here I am
Alone as my wife could not
Get away nor any friends
So I have broken my
Rule not to go into
Mountains into a
Wilderness all
Alone as the
Rain pelts
Down
Wet
Pines
Plop drops
Onto my tent
As my eyes close
I drift off to sleep all
Alone but comfy I
Hope to dream
Of company
As I am
Not
Made
To be alone.