The campground is deadly silent. The only sound is the quiet ripple of the creek just a short walk away. The crescent moon beckons the howl of the distant coyote. We are the only campers in what used to be a US Forest Service camp. Firewood is plentiful but the ghosts of the lumbermen linger. We are no longer in the middle of nowhere, we are in “the sticks”.
“The Sticks”
I am not naked. I am not afraid. But I am sleeping with one eye open.
