August 26—Bad Bear campground. The singing creek. Unstoppable waters rushing through rocks and river vegetation. That’s the jewel of this gypsy camp.
Weather had been changing, temperatures dropping down, the forest air was cooler and crispier, but at 3:30pm a wonderful, strong sun shone upon our gypsy camp, and thus we got our swimming suits, got our soaps and towels and down we went to the singing creek; down below our campsite, where bushes and thick vegetation had created a dreamy, private natural space. Chipmunk chirped and rock sang, as we laugh and hurried up to wash and splash. The water was so clear and bone cold and we felt so invigorated and clean.
As the sun settled, and light dimmed and faded, we sat inside our cozy gypsy caravan reading and working on our computers; shrouded in delicious shadow and the mysteriously dark sound of the river outside. The coolness of the young night spooling around us and I found myself confident that our Heavenly Father will see us through; refreshed and surrounded in quiet, peaceful way.
I guess this is how wildflowers must feel when the day finally breaks back upon itself and a riptide of night moves fast to the West and the bugs spread their wings and fly towards the last of the sun...
