I listen to the crunch of gravel underfoot, my sneakers finding a secure path among the rocks and through the woods, a crescent of cold, blue illumination shines forth from my hip. It is black beyond my false moon save for the polka dot sky.
Halfway back to my tent I pause and close my eyes, shutting out the light that shouldn’t be there in the first place. Interrupting the cricket lullaby, a coyote’s cry — haunting vowels — travels across my skin in a rush of gooseflesh.
“Oooooooooooooooooo”
I peer into the darkness, looking for the reflective glow of eyes peering from the woods and wishing I could judge distance by sound. I should have been frightened, but I am not afraid of this absence of knowing, wrapped in the isolation of my limited vision. The cry continues, and is answered. I resume my path.
The solidity of the earth beneath my feet grounds me and the trees keep their woody fingers to themselves, granting me the right of passage. I zip the door to my tent closed behind me with a plastic scream, and at the end of my tent reveals a large, black arachnid playing opossum in the beam of light that I wield.
My heart beats a little quicker, and I quickly decide that screaming would accomplish nothing. Confirming that this house guest has no point of entry (or angle of revenge), I screw my courage on and approach the interloper with my the tip of my middle finger pressed firmly against the pad of my thumb.
Thunk!
The spider in red-striped stockings is removed from his perch on outer wall of nylon mesh by a blow to the abdomen, and I — proud to have handled the situation myself without even so much as a squeak — extinguished my fraudulent moon, rendering myself blind once more to the many faces of the night.
[...] pad and a North Face sleeping bag. In the rain I stay dry, and in the cold I stay warm, and the bugs stay OUT — three very important things when camping on the east [...]