In precious stillness,
filtered moonlight dances with the campfire.
Silence is broken
by the hoot of an owl and crack of flame.
We’re gratefully at ease
in the midst of you,
our beloved steadfast paladins.
Lying on the softest floor
we deeply breathe your fragrance.
Now safe enough to tell our truths and
share our innocent laughter,
we drift into contented dreams.
in sleeping bag cocoons
blissfully tucked into allegiant roots
defended by your branches.
by Susan Norton Lewis