After three nights on a hard bunk I was more than a little rest-deprived when it came time to get up for breakfast this morning.  So I spent most of this morning in my sleeping bag napping under an adolescent tree.  I wrapped the arms of a hooded sweatshirt leftover from college around my eyes to block out the sun and drifted. Twenty-five yards away, a man sitting on the front porch of his cabin picked out a casual tune on a mandolin. A pack of kids on bikes zoomed down the gravel road and down to the shore, hoping to tease one more speed boat ride out of the waterfront staff.

The weekend at church camp was almost over, and all those who had made the trek down to the Chesapeake Bay were determined to squeeze out every last moment of pleasure that Camp Tockwogh had to give. I spent the weekend kayaking, reading a book for one of my classes, eating wonderfully crappy food, drinking wine in a field while looking at the stars and standing on a dock, watching the sky clear and talking with a new friend.

As always, church camp was a great way to say goodbye to the summer.