The clicking of bones:
a warm up stretch,
accompanied by
a yawn.
The sound of zips:
first fumbling with
the sleeping bags,
then doors,

inner and outer,
up and down,
a campsite’s rowdy
percussion.
Urgent feet
then crashing doors –
seems someone desperately
rushing.

It sounds as if
the whole world’s playing
just metres from
your pitch.
You check your watch
it must be late
but no it’s barely
six.

What is this madness?
With bleary eyes
you peer out but
to find,
there’s no one up
and all is still
but one child on the
horizon.

This morning wasn’t at all like this, although there a number of bird calls overnight. The familiar sound of zips, however, triggered many early morning campsite memories…
(13.08.24)

© Ben Quant 2024