Preparations

Two hours pass, and I let John sleep. I hear snoring from the tent, the rhythm of his breathing broken only by a periodic moaning, the kind of low guttural whine a dog makes when it hears a siren in the distance.

I use the time wisely. I dig a hole in the soft bottomland ground and bury all traces of our presence--the cans and other food containers, all the evidence people always leave wherever we go. I wonder in the end if this is all we are--a few items buried in the ground that show future generations that we were here once. Everyday things we take for granted that some archeologist will use to judge what we must have been like and how we went about living our short existence. The sum total of our lives postulated in simple trash. "The people of this period ate beans from metallic cans and something called 'Snickers'."

I'd like to think we are more than that. That our laughs and tears and loves and struggles mean more than what we possessed. But one thing I do know as I clean up--we can never leave a place just like we found it. It's just our nature.

I rake leaves back over the disturbed ground and find the latrine John has dug just down the bottom. I'm thankful he has that much woodsman left in him after all these years. I didn't want to spend precious daylight combing the brush looking for used toilet paper. I fill in the shallow hole and cover it with a dead tree branch.

In the last light of day I survey my work. I see a tent, camp fire, and a few camping tools. Nothing else to show that someone has been here. Only leaves turned over that would easily be rationalized as wild turkeys scratching through the bottom for acorns.

There is nothing left to do but wait. I'm in no hurry, and I'm not going to wake the man up, even from a disturbed sleep. We will both be leaving here soon enough, and at least one of us will be rested and ready for the journey.

I unload the rifle, pocket the shells, and settle in by the fire. A big full moon is beginning to peep over the ridge. The hollow will be lit with pale light tonight, and no flashlight will be needed.

I recall that the Bible says that "what is done in the darkness will be seen in the light."

I take no comfort in that thought.