Night falls with laughter

and dancing, as we gather

around the bonfire glowing

like a neon sign.

But clouds colored

like scorched

marshmallows begin

filling the sky.

The campers are ordered

to their tents for shelter;

a few leaders run to the

latrines, checking for others.

Under the pavilion

now, yells the director.

The storm is here,

get out of the tents.


In an instant, the

horror unfolds.

White flames lick

the air, calling upward.

Counselors take off towards the

wind-swept bonfire, grabbing

jugs of water, extinguishing the

beast in a furl of ashes.

Hovering streaks light

the sky; and unaware of

my own legs, I am now

under the pavilion,

standing on a table

belting out songs…

Make new friends

but keep the old,


one is silver and

the other is gold…

trying to calm

hysterical children.

Terror cracks,

as trees plunge to the ground

like divers, flailing


The wind is stronger

than an army tank;

I brace myself,

for the end

that never comes.

The storm rages,

though we return

safely home, but

I cannot stay calm

anymore; as tears

stream, I tremble

lying in bed awake.


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