Cabin Life
Cabin life is different. One is not obligated,
to cook well, or at all, to shower daily, to sleep often, or well.
Thirty hours without sleep feels
like four cups of coffee or a few beers. Saturday mornings mean five am
sunrises and instant coffee instead of warm sheets, eggs, bacon.
Netflix marathons are replaced by
cup amplified music and card games only played by the light of a sunset or a
flashlight.
Cabin life is different. Twenty-four
hours can feel like a week or a month. New friends like old. Seventeen year
olds become eighteen when cute boys smile and jet skis pass by.
Cabin life means rainbow sunrises
over chocolate muffins on rickety docks with pillows and blankets. It means
campfires and tummy aches from too much junk food. It means four pm naps in the
sun turned into red sunburnt backs, aloe lotion and the promise to use
sunscreen tomorrow.
Cabin life is s’mores over the coals
of a fire lit and forgotten hours ago.
Cabin life is packing up your stuff
forgetting a few things, saying goodbye to the lake and the cabin and driving home
for work the next morning.
