Camping in the Granite Hills

I am loathe to do this. This spring has been so full of flowers blooming and sweet fragrances in the air and birds singing and the sun shining. I should not do this, but...

There was a breeze coming over the lake. Although the air was hot, it was comfortable by the water. Although there were bugs about, the wind pushed them back into the woods.

At Black Rock Park, we camped and talked and ate and faced our chairs into the breeze. We walked along the red sand beach and sat beneath the wispy limbs of a Willow by the shore of Lake Buchanon.

We sat in dappled green light beneath an old Mesquite tree and in the shade of Post Oaks that sink their roots deep into the rock even where we labored to drive out steel tent spikes. And Wrens sang in the canopy overhead.

At night, the moon raced the clouds across the sky. And there were smores to be had. And brownies. By day, there was watermelon. And cobbler. And ribs. And chicken fajitas. In the morning, there were eggs and bacon and coffee. And ... cinnamon rolls made from scratch.

And as today drew to a close and we approached Austin from the west -- I kid you not -- a rainbow lit up before us, stretching across the sky, welcoming us home.

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Black Rock Park, Lake Buchanon, TX.

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