Into Gramp's Wilderness

Gramps left the town

The folks of years

The job

The routine.

Made himself the Cabin.

After tenting for

Two spring months.



Befriended the seasons’ rush

The morning sounds

The little projects.

His son, my Papa

Assured me, little Francine

Two wonderful weeks

Out there.

Best part of all.



And Arrow, his peregrine

Made for rich fun

In the hunt

And tasty rabbit stew.

Twice as delicious

With my Gramps.

Highland winds whining.

Cook fire snapping.