Snowforest (July June August September 2021)
Late July in Snowforest, a new national park campground, kids biked past our site, exploring, looping as our kids used to do in other campgrounds, and as decades ago we did too.
In the gorgeous bathroom complex no more stalls; each toilet housed in its own high-ceilinged room where you could read about the Coeur d’Alene salamander, endangered in other parts, discovered here.
Late June we dared not go outside. Stood by the fan by the sink pitting sour cherries. Sweat that shower after shower wouldn’t wash; nights no longer cool, craving rain.
When weeks later it came there was a joyous run, catching it on the tongue, pleasure of the hour that didn’t last long.
Late August we drove by Lytton, that town minutes burned, record heat everyone knows but can’t imagine.
Charred remains out of sight down in the valley so you could almost drive by as if it didn’t happen.
Late September, the rain won’t go away. Routine now lush green, hummingbird across the glass where you stand at the sink forgetting that sweat. Startles close:
You forget Snowforest. You forgot. You forget.
Ash had fallen in the night.
(Remember the pale flakes
on the freshly hewn
picnic table, carried
on the wind from some un-