The tips of our tents could be seen from the High Level Road
But no one could come for us
past the poison ivy brambles and the spiked plants
Three miles from the nearest establishment
the sky of the most magnificent blue shone above our heads
until the evening
when the sky grew grey and
the bright valley became darker
all light drawn from the world
the small river was rushing
crashing against the jagged rocks that lined the shore
the booms filled our ears

here it begins
the tents had to be moved to a shelter
the girls were huddled in one sleeping bag
our teeth chattering
echoing the ominous booms and cracks from above
the rusted tin roof of the shelter smelled of tangy metal,
the floor splintered and broke apart
as for the walls; there were none
the wind raced past us, blowing our hair in all directions

the counselors were chatting in
hushed voices occasionally stealing
glances at one of us

nearly an hour later
the rain was still pouring
but the river had swelled
and was creeping to the shelter
inching its way forward
like a wounded animal

We froze
the water had reached the shelter
and flooded areas around it
like the parthenon rising above Athens
Then it stopped
just as suddenly as it started
the winds died:
the animals slithered back
the rain diminished to a light drizzle
the clouds moved
the sky cleared
the sleeping bags packed up