Morning sun
The morning sun arched above the horizon. Glistening dew sparkled hello as the song birds sang their good mornings, and the lump in the sleeping bag next to Mia was as silent as a tranquilized gorilla.
Mia, having noticed this and not at all surprised, stretched her legs and toes. She felt for her pants that were tucked away in her sleeping bag so they would stay warm during the night and wiggled them on. Her jacket, on the other hand, was unfortunately draped across a chair sitting in the corner of the tent.
She inched her way up until she was sitting upright, exposing her torso to the chill of the morning, her breath coming out in waves of fog. Reaching gingerly, as to not knock anything over, she managed to retrieve her coat and slide the frozen sleeves over her arms, then unzipped the bag and slid on her boats. She crawled over the gorilla, otherwise known as her husband, being careful to only knee him once or twice in the bum. As she unzipped the tent, the warm sun, so bright she needed to close her eyes, kissed her face in sweet warmth.
Once out, she took in the Rocky Mountains sitting in their majesty right where she left them the night before, but with new rolling clouds gliding past their snowy peaks. An elk called in the distance. This, she thought, has to be what heaven feels like.
She stood for a moment, eyes closed, hands extended down, letting this perfect morning be, when she heard a faint scratching sound. Opening just her right eye, she tried to listen harder. But the sound disappeared only for a moment, and returned in earnest for a second time. Mia whipped around to see a raccoon casually having its breakfast in the trash. She looked from the raccoon to the ripped bag to the rope that should have held it securely to the tree branch above. Taking a deep breath, it was easy to see the solution. Grab a stick and simply shoo it away. No need to panic, no need to wake the gorilla. But as she reached down a loping blob of gray and black raced past her arm, brushing her with coarse hair causing her to scream.
A larger rustle erupted, as her husband, riddled with bed head and only in his under britches roared from the tent, belt swinging in front of him ready for battle.
Mia, bracing herself on her knees, heart pounding, unsure of how to proceed next, pointed in the direction of the raccoons. He carefully worked his way on tip toe around the tent and upon seeing them, laughed a belly laugh fit for kings. He reached for the stick Mia was clinging to, and shooed both raccoons off easily, then gave her a kiss and went back into the tent.
Much love,
Stacie D
