We had that blow up last night--literally--in the form of a pretty violent thunderstorm that hit the campground about 6:00 pm. You are a lot closer to nature in a tin box surrounded by other canvas and tin boxes. But it didn't last terribly long, and damage seems minimal. The result was some gorgeous cloud formations (see above) and, after more than a week of heat and humidity, wonderful cool air, a great night of sleeping, and today one of those crisp mornings where everything seems sharper and cleaner.
I went for an early walk, trying to, as Anne Lamott says in her book Bird by Bird, listen to my broccoli and figure out how Frannie is going to catch the villain in my third book. It is Lamott's expression for not letting logic and organized thinking get in the way of pure intuition. By the river, I sat on a picnic bench in an empty tent site and watched the sunrise make the tops of the trees across the river glow, with the communion disc of the almost-full moon suspended just above them. If I didn't look down at the bench or sideways at the firepit, I could imagine the early explorers or the Native Americans two hundred years ago in this area. Not a single sign of human habitation. The river was smooth as silk with a few wrinkles and dimples I suppose caused by storm debris. What a way to collect oneself.
I still don't know how Frannie is going to do it or what we are having for breakfast but my broccoli is working.