In the sky just outside the cabin window, beaming fiercely like the light of a train headed straight towards me, a Pink Moon hangs. The creek is high and the sounds of its rushing torrent adds to the train illusion. CBC plays on the radio but I stopped listening much earlier in the evening.
The smell of burning nylon permeates the air inside the cabin. The joint I recently lit must've fallen from my fingers while fixated on the moon and is now burning another hole in my sleeping bag.
My feet itch. They have been in soggy winter boots for far too long. I pick-up the joint and take a long draw. The itch disappears and so too the last sips of my peppermint tea. Another good day. And now goodnight.

Submitted By: D Moore