by Sean Prentiss

Hours after the sun has set into these dark
Cascade Mountains, hours after we’ve slunk
Off to our scattered & weary tents that sag
From weeks of wilderness living & these
Endless days of rain & snow, I lie in a bag
That reeks of earth & sap & bar oil & listen
To the songs of snow against the vestibule.

I wrap the heat of my bag tight around me,
Wondering how this new crew is holding up
In their cheap bags, wondering if they dream
Of soft pillows, cell phones, & humming
TVs to shepherd them to sleep after another
Cold day in these green mountains of rain.

I don’t blame them their dreams & as I shut
My eyes, I dream to the cold music of snow
& dream tomorrow—or the next—to when
This bearded face may finally experience
The warm rays from that barely rememberable

Sun.

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Sean Prentiss is the co-editor of The Far Edges of the Fourth Genre, an anthology about the craft and philosophy of creative nonfiction. He teaches at Norwich University and lives in northern Vermont.

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