Saturday

We lolled about after waking lateish and shuffled off for breakfast at a truck stop complete with Princess Phones (which, btw, was something I’ve always wanted to do) and plenty of coffee. Back to the hostel under threats of another MN hissy fit, we read and played mancala and cards until I think G & K’s heads were going to explode.

They went foraging for lunch while I poured a drink, opened the screen door to welcome the rain and launched bloom on my iPhone (which you should totally download RIGHT NOW. I’ll wait.)

It’s the most relaxed I’ve been in ages.

The sky booming and shaking, the splatter of the drops on the canopy of green, the quieting of the little buzzards trying to ruin my life, the air cooling and thrusting itself into my lungs, the green becoming so amplified it was electric…

I wanted to soak it all up and in and roll around in it so the stink on my skin would never leave and I’d have something more to remember it by.

I wanted to share it with you, but it slipped through my heart and evaporated. I don’t suppose it was meant to be shared, it was what the postcards are about…”wish you were here…” because my words and imagery will never do it justice.

The girls came back and fed me, and we resumed our reading/gabbing/joking.

Eventually, the dinner bell rang (what we can only assume was an hour before dinner) and we scurried down to the netted mess hall to play friendly with the other guests and the staff.

While our meal and the company were both delicious and delightful, it’s what came next that makes my heart melt. The sun fell, dusk settled, and the temperatures started to cool. It was our final night, and I wasn’t going to leave without swimming in the lake, and out to the hammock in the floating dock and floating at least a few minutes away under the stars…so I did.

There was a mist on the water from the temperature change that made it haunted and mystic and surreal. I wished for my camera and closed my eyes on the image. It’s still there, with the reeds around the banks of the lake and the bench swing where my clothes hung disappearing and reappearing in the light the nearly full moon provided.

Between the chatting and admiring the night there were long pauses of silence, where I could close my eyes and devour the stillness. I did it until I was full and as my weight shifted the cold air would hit my wet skin. It was time to crawl through the water back to the shoreline and tuck in, marking the last night and the end of another magical memorable trip to the treehouses at our hostel in the forest.

As my eyes finally closed an hour or more later, I promised myself again to come back. Maybe alone and definitely when it’s raining.