The Next Generation

Huddled around the campfire
thirty minutes removed 
from even a county road, 

the moon drops rays of hope
and my children gather them as memories.

The convergence of souls 
under the stars, 
around a fire,
sticks and stones and words
that are retained, 
not rough. 

This is hunting. 
Not pulling a trigger, 
not taking a life. 
Breathing life into 
the next generation. 



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