Camp grounds

We arrived under a sky too perfect to trust—clear, warm, and whispering promises it had no business keeping. The water lay still, glassy and cool, like it knew secrets it wouldn’t share unless you swam deep enough to hear them. As the sun dipped behind the trees, the campground came alive—not with people, but with eyes. Snakes slid silently over stone and sand, their paths curiously deliberate. Frogs chorused from unseen puddles, croaking in code. A heron stood motionless near the shore, watching. Waiting. We never saw it move. Then came the deer. Not grazing, not timid—swimming. Out to the small islands, necks stretched high above the water like ghost ships drifting into fog. No one spoke as we watched. No one breathed. And the road runners? Too fast to follow, too calm to chase. They