You were the campground of my youth, but I haven't seen you in 25 years.
Even though I was here all the time as a boy, I doubt you remember me.
That's ok, I remember you.
Your lake for swimming and fishing,
your creeks for wading,
your trails for exploration.
Lots has changed since we last saw each other.
I'm grown now, with a family of my own. I'm sorry, introducing them to you is long overdue, but Dad coming along really plugs the ends together, doesn't it? After all, he started it.
You remind me that, if you're lucky, life's best moments recycle. A simple, beautiful place - like a campground - can complete a circuit in your soul.
Yes, you are just like I remember. Riding my bike on your trails, wading in your creeks with my kids and soaking up the campfire with my Dad - you give all these things without hesitation. You do this for my family, as well as countless others, every summer as the years march on.
Thanks Springbrook, you're the best.
Sincerely,
Brian
1 comment:
Oh, my gosh, this is lovely, heart-breakingly lovely. Don't ever stop writing.
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