Echo

Yesterday I woke to the sound of my niece’s anticipatory greeting to a new day.  She got out of her tent and hollered “ECHO” into the Killarney Mountains and one of the mountains answered her cheery, curious call back. The night before last was an adventurous one. We were unexpectedly caught in the path of an enormous storm front during our weekend camping trip. It was the most intense electrical storm any of our party could remember camping in. Sizzling cracks, stroboscopic light, thunderous claps, long rolling roars, and torrential walls of rain poured down on us until the wee hours of the morning.

Living next to the Great Lakes means high humidity and wicked summer storms. I think it’s very exciting stuff when I’m inside a house with all the windows closed and a basement to hide in but flippin’ scary enough to constipate me for a week when experienced sleeping in the wilderness of the remote backcountry inside a nylon shell as thin as tissue paper. Our tent leaked, I had to pee, and I wished I had a pair of Depends with me.

Either we were going to be washed away situated smack in the middle of a new river being born or catapulted over to the next island courtesy of an one billion volt of electricity. I held on so tight to my husbands hand because I wanted company for the flight over. Luckily none of this happened and yes I have a very overactive imagination. My brother now calls me wimp-atha.

Exhausted after an all-nighter of deathly adrenalin coursing through my veins, I slept very well the next night and hoped to continue doing so for a good portion of the following morning when Jaimie’s “echo” interrupted my plan. Her morning call into the wild blue yonder did the impossible though and cracked my tired frown. I opened my eyes, smiled and chuckled. Okay kid, you win and your right, another day, another adventure. I’ll echo that!

365 Journal Challenge:
“Take a five minute walk, then make something using whatever materials are available where you’ve ended up. Leave it there for someone else to discover.”

© Dana Aubrey, Clay Prints