The fire dwindled as the smoke spiraled upwards

worn logs scattered, the ground moist, trees hanging low

cold wind rips trough the pines spinning hammocks round 

the low voices blend together in a haze.

On a rock two sit removed from the rest.

The wind brings them closer together.

His arm around her, legs crossed over,

her head rests on his shoulder.

The trees part just enough to see the lake.

The moon reflects off the glassy surface, its perfect,

a blast of cold flies off the lake

she shivers and he pulls her closer.

They lock eyes, she smiles.

Some nights this is all I think about.