%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |    My random thoughts and reactions to my everyday life. The voices like a forum. |
| Write an entry about a camping adventure in the forest with Andre. Use at least six of these words in your entry: tent, campfire, shadow, noise, tree, sleeping bag, cereal, backpack, trash, bear, owl, flashlight, camera, wooden spoon. After a great deal of thrashing about and copious perspiration, Andre and I spotted a lovely glen in the forest. With a noise somewhere between a loud sigh of relief and a high-pitched groan, we dropped all of our heavy gear onto the needle-covered ground. Toting a backpack is not for the faint of heart. As I scanned our chosen camping spot I dismissed a fleeting worry that we'd packed far too much gear for an over-nighter. After a much-needed breather leaning against a stout tree Andre and I unrolled our shelter, a wee nylon tent. I was grateful he was far too busy wrestling with the billowing material to film our shenanigans. The included printed instructions warned us not to step on the delicate tent, but how else were we to raise it and shape the uncooperative mess into a resemblance of a tent? Between us we only had two hands. If only we could turn off the steady, persistent breeze. I did my best to assist Andre. I sat on one end of the tent while he attempted to drive a few stakes into the earth. I must've day-dreamed for a short spell because I finally noticed something strange. I believe most experienced campers wield a mallet, or perhaps a hammer. Not Andre, intrepid monkey that he is. He whacked the tent stakes with a wooden spoon. I couldn't help it, I shuddered and looked away. Flashbacks from my childhood played on a reel in my mind. Not that my mother ever actually struck me with her weapon of choice, a wooden spoon, but she threatened to on a regular basis. Andre certainly hit those stakes as if they'd misbehaved. It may have taken several choice curse words and a few false starts, but we forced that slip of nylon to stand as a tent. To celebrate we built a roaring campfire. Our efforts had burned a great deal of daylight. Andre would only put aside the flashlight and thus preserve the sole batteries we'd packed when the flames jumped and danced illuminating the tree shadows encircling us. Before long our yawns outnumbered our words. Setting up camp in the invigorating fresh air of a forest is incredibly taxing. We kicked some dirt onto the embers to smother them and we crawled into our shelter. Just as my eyes could no longer stay open and I'd finally squirmed into a sleep-comfortable position on the hard earth, a sudden screech tensed my muscles. Andre, half-asleep, stumbled out of the tent wrapped in his sleeping bag. I laughed at this panicked monkey hopping about like he was raring to win a sack race. "Wh-wh-oo-oo is it?'' he quavered. I shone a beam up into a nearby pine to reveal a blinking owl. I swear Andre flinched when I quipped, "At least it's not a bear."( 513 words minus the 38 of the prompt ) |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
