Wednesday, July 6, 2016

Terror Tuesday: Thirst

The forest floor was dry. The needles shed
By long-dead evergreens crunched underneath
The hikers' boots 'Twas as if all had fled,
E'en water from the creek beds. No relief,
Save what they'd brought in bottles, could be found.
The air itself seemed it would dessicate
Their flesh. Still up they climbed, the stony ground
A challenge, but all right. Then it grew late.
A likely spot they knew of was the site
They camped at, with no fire, lest they should burn
The region down. They nodded off that night...
Just how it happened we did never learn.
When others found them, at midday, the pair
Were crisp and desiccated, lying there.

1 comment:

  1. This summer has been super dry here near Ottawa, and our 50 acre property is planted with a spruce forest. We've been watching the dry needle beds uneasily. One lightning strike ... Fortunately if finally rained, but this certainly chimed with reality, except for the bit about dying at the end, thankfully.