The wind at your back.
Warm sun on your face,
And a bluebird sky.
Hot unflavored dark roast coffee.
A climbing rope that holds your fall,
And a self-arrest that works.
The first time a trout takes your fly.
A big stack of dry firewood,
And burned-bottom cornbread.
Rain pelting your tent with you inside it and dry.
A full water bottle,
And tires with enough air.
Arriving back.
A trail that flows well,
And a Snickers bar.
Shifters that work.
A hoppy IPA,
And a thunderhead in the distance.
Good sitting spots next to a campfire.
A warm coat,
And chips and salsa.
Extra room in your backpack.
A tank full of gas,
And shoelaces that stay tied.
Heading out on a journey.
A flat place to sleep,
And new terrain.
Star-filled skies.
A light switch that works,
And money in your pocket.
A crime report that doesn’t include your name.
A colorful sunset,
And paint that doesn’t peel.
Someone to tell your stories to.
A rock that breaks where it’s supposed to,
And lightning that strikes something besides you.
Sitting on a mountain summit when it’s not windy.
A bear that leaves you alone,
And a falling tree that misses you.
Crawling into your sleeping bag on a cold night.
A near-miss,
And homegrown tomatoes.
Tent zippers that work at 2:00 am.
A river that’s not flooding,
And fresh batteries in your headlamp.
Trouble-free audio on a Zoom call.
A door that only opens when it’s supposed to,
And a full roll of toilet paper.
The smell of a forest after a rain.
A waterfall where there’s not supposed to be one,
And duct tape.
Someone to tell you stories.
A red sky at night,
And new places to go.
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