old kings road

unzip my tent

the morning younger than i

i struggle to pull on my torn sneakers

before stepping onto the dewy earth

to catch a still steaming cup of brew

i tread lightly

the others still slumbering in their zip-up homes

i wait by the crackling fire for them to wake

for the day of adventure to begin

just as the flames trying to lick my dirty knees

become a dash too warm

the tents unzip and the others emerge

with anything other than grace

and we’re off

the road crumbles beneath our bikes

over rigid wooden bridges we race

between a pair of wise oak trees
we make a narrow escape

only stopping to watch a gator

cutting its way across a previously still creek

remarkable enough to humble a group of typically wild children

taking an extra moment

to respect the glory

carried by the autumn breeze

through golden leaves

a voice calling back to camp is heard

we leave behind nothing but tracks

and carry nothing but excitement

taking the winding bend back home.