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The great outdoors

Sleeping under the stars the mind is free to mingle

With the ancients travelling by aid of shooting stars

To a time when a 2am calm met a 3am mistral in a

Hurrying, scurrying short-lived atmospheric tango

That spoke of the wrath of an angry God


The great outdoors can be a scary place after dark

A place where the slightest noise is somehow

Magnified and the scratching of a mouse becomes

The winding of a snake and the legs of a beetle the

Rasping fangs of a fox 'touch me not lest I run for my

Life.' Curled up in my sleeping bag something moves

On my pillow oh, it's my hair, nothing to worry then

But still the first light of dawn is a joy to behold


As too breakfast, which not unlike a cone of chips on

A promenade is a ritual to be savoured. Eggs, bacon

Sausage, black pudding, tomatoes and toast with

Piping hot tea – a full English as we call it. Six more

Nights to go in a tent – made all the easier by the

Magical aroma of a frying pan

© Joseph G Dawson


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