​Camping

You stand alone at the lake’s edge, staring at its smooth, glassy surface. The air is still except for the light breeze and the faint, fluid movement of birds above. Their murmurations ripple and twist, hundreds moving as one, carried by the wind, but somehow separate from it. Just below, ripples spread as fish leap for insects skimming the water’s surface, and a turtle glides by lazily, its shell breaking the reflection for only a moment before disappearing again. The wind shifts, bringing with it the scent of rain. A dark cloud you’d been watching drift away now begins to creep back toward you. You glance back toward camp and see Jake with the boys by the tent. You start back, thinking it might be a good idea to get the rain cover over the tent before it hits, hoping to avoid the hassle of scrambling to throw it on in the middle of the night with the boys asleep and everything already damp. As you get closer, you notice that James is teaching Aaron how to do a cartwheel. Aaron’s attempt collapses halfway through, and James and Jake cheer him on “so close Aaron!! That was awesome!” You cheer too as you walk up beside Jake and say “I think it’s gonna rain. Will you help me with the cover?” Jake looks at you and nods. “Yeah, let’s do it.” You each take an end, draping the cover over the tent and securing it. The wind picks up just as you finish. “Good timing, hun!” Jake grins, rounding the tent to meet you. “A few moments later and that could have been a fight.” You shrug with confidence. “We would’ve gotten it.” Then, turning to the boys: “Who wants to roast some marshmallows?” James lets out an enthusiastic whoop. Aaron looks at his brother, then mimics him. You gather the marshmallows and roasting sticks. Time slips away as the fire crackles, marshmallows blistering, some turning perfectly golden, most catching fire and charring before anyone can blow them out. The sweet, smoky scent of burnt sugar drifts through the cool night air. The boys chatter through mouthfuls of sticky sweetness, you all laugh at the blackened casualties, and the night deepens. The camp feels wrapped in its own little bubble. A sudden spout of rain interrupt the moment, sending James and Aaron running into the tent. Jake stays to put the fire out while you move the last of the gear under the awning. When you duck into the tent, Jake hands you a towel. “Great call on the cover, hun” “Yeah,” you say, drying your hair. “I’m just glad I saw that cloud coming in. Thanks for the towel.” You glance over at the boys, Jame is already zipped into his sleeping bag, and Aaron is playing with his electric eel stuffed animal. “Alright, guys. Bedtime!” you announce. Aaron protests, but you offer to play music. He climbs onto the air mattress beside you with a sigh. “Oooookkkkaayyy. I want Norah Jones Sun-rise.” You cue up the song. One track fades into the next, then the next. Twelve songs later, Aaron’s asleep, his small breaths steady. You lie there in the dark, tired yourself. The quiet is thick except for the patter of rain on the tent. You stay still for a while, listening as the rain picks up slightly, the wind gently rattles the fabric of the tent, but it holds fast, keeping it out. The sound of frogs carried over from the lake in a slow, rhythmic chorus. Slowly, you slide Aaron’s leg off yours and work your way out from under the covers, careful not to wake him. Jake’s soft snore carries across the tent. You glance over just in time to see him stir, the familiar restless movements that mean he might be slipping toward one of his episodes. You move quickly, the cool nylon floor against the soles of your feet. Just as you reach him, he says “Those are my strawberries!” A laugh escapes you, bright in the hush. You touch his arm gently. “Who wanted your strawberries?” His eyes open suddenly, saying “Jesus!” that startled alertness he always has when waking. You laugh, “nope, still your wife” “Oh, was I talking?” he says with a laugh, rubbing his face. He looks at where the boys are “Oh, good, I didn’t wake anyone.” In the dim tent light, he looks worn, shirt wrinkled, eyes heavy. You think about everything you’ve been through together, all the moments like this one where you’ve simply shown up for each other. Without a word, you reach for the zipper of his sleeping bag. The quiet rasp of it seems louder in the rain-muted night, each tooth sliding free with deliberate slowness. Jake glances down, the sleepiness in his expression softening into something warmer, something that feels like an unspoken welcome. He shifts back, creating space without a word. You slip inside, the fabric brushing against your bare arms, cool for just a moment before the trapped heat meets your skin. His warmth greets you instantly, wrapping around you as naturally as breath. The faint scent of campfire still clings to him, smoke and wood and the memory of glowing embers, layered over the familiar, subtle scent that’s always his. You fit yourself into the space beside him, looping one arm around his middle, feeling the steady, grounding rhythm of his breath under your hand. The nylon walls of the sleeping bag rustle softly as you draw closer, your knees brushing his, the heat between you building in quiet increments. You tilt your head and find his lips in a slow, lingering kiss, just enough to say I’m here without a single word. His breath mingles with yours, warm in the small space between. You turn in his arms, feeling the gentle pull of his hand at your hip as you face away. You guide the zipper up again, the soft rasp sealing you in. The world outside shrinks to rain on the tent and the solid presence of him at your back, his chest rising and falling against you like a quiet promise. “Good thing I got the extra-large sleeping bag, huh?” you tease, your voice low, playful. He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through his chest as it presses against your back. His arm slides around you, hand resting at your stomach, fingers curling against you. The heat of him seeps into your skin, his breath warm at the curve of your neck. Outside, rain taps its steady rhythm. Inside, it’s all heat, breath, and quiet, a small, sealed world meant only for the two of you. Your breathing falls into sync with his, each inhale and exhale settling into an easy rhythm. The warmth between you grows, seeping deeper into your bones until your muscles loosen completely. The tension in your shoulders, the noise of the day, all dissolve into the steady presence of him, the secure weight of his arm across you, the gentle rise and fall of his chest pressing against your back, the faint brush of his breath at the nape of your neck. Outside, the rain deepens, its soft percussion on the tent like a lullaby. The sleeping bag holds in the heat, wrapping you in a cocoon that feels far removed from the rest of the world. You can smell the damp earth beyond the tent, mingling faintly with the lingering scent of melted marshmallows. You let yourself sink further into him, into the stillness, until the edge between waking and sleep softens. His warmth steadies you, your breathing matching his without thought. Outside, the rain keeps its quiet rhythm, the world beyond the tent fading away. Your mind drifts back to the lake earlier, to the murmurations, hundreds of birds twisting and folding through the air, moving together as if by instinct. They followed the same wind, yet each found its own line through the sky. You feel that now in the small space between you and Jake. Two separate heartbeats, two different lives, moving in the same current, adjusting to each other without effort. As sleep pulls you under, you picture the birds again, together as one, carried forward by something unseen.