The writing retreat I attended a couple weekends ago spurred a few homework assignments. Drawing upon my experience as a long distance backpacker, here is a poem about pine needle beds.
“The sun sinks ever lower
I have a bit of dread.
Will this trail lead to a
Pine needle covered bed?
Meadows give cushioning,
But what with all the dew,
My sleeping bag come morn
Will manage to soak through.
I love lake shore scenery,
But too much gritty sand
Spurs me to hike further
When possibly I can.
Woods of oak or maple,
With broad and crunchy leaves,
Provide restless slumber
That causes me to grieve.
You might think small needles
Of spruce and fir work fine.
The messiness they cause
Instead makes me opine.
It’s dusk and I still seek
Pine needles, white or red,
Hiking on ‘til I find
A nice long needle bed.”
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