The ground is dirty, but so are we so we sit, so we smile, so we listen. It’s the way that they take out their guitars and everyone sings along just like that. We’re all a little tired, and the notes a little flat but we’re all so happy that it doesn’t even matter.
Just a small, dusty log cabin that looks over the muddy trails and the gentle lake. The roofing is coming undone, the boardwalk is falling apart. It’s old, it’s wise and it’s humble, but in this room seventy souls are embracing, seventy souls are one. Something about the stars that watch over us sends a spell that brings everyone together. You love the guy who talks too much and the girl who likes to gossip. You love the man who’s yelled at you all week, and the one who wakes you up at 6:30 every morning. You love the friends you have just met and you want to hold their hands.
I don’t really know what it is about this place. The trails are long, the mornings come too soon, and the showers are always cold. Maybe it’s the lake, the one that is childish and likes to play, the one that sends out calls of the loons at night. Maybe it’s the fireplace that I’m sure you could fall in love at. Maybe it’s the songs we sing or the pizza we eat on friday. Maybe it’s the people. Infact I’m sure of it. It must be the people that keep bringing me back to this place. It’s amazing how the people you meet Sunday are your best friend come Monday morning. It’s so strange how this place brings out a you youer than you knew you could be. It’s magic, I just know it.
This camp, this humble little home of mine is where my heart belongs. The ground is dirty, but so are we so we sit, so we smile, so we listen. It’s the way that someone hums a tune and everyone sings along just like that. We’re all a little tired, and the notes a little flat but we’re all so happy that it doesn’t even matter.
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