The canopy of the trees rustled in the cool, late summer breeze. It was soft and constant, music as sweet as a Sirens song calling him to put down his pack and take a rest in the nearest bed of moss. And wouldn't that be a sweet sleep Antony Ruiz thought to himself? He stood in the small clearing and closed his eyes, letting his other senses focus, drinking it all in. The piercing chatter of a squirrel and the incessant calls of a group of chikadees. The smell of damp leaves rotting underfoot and a hint of rain that remained from the morning thunder showers that had so efficiently delayed his little weekend excursion. If he hadn't been forced to set out so much later he could have taken some time to pause and smell the roses. "Literally", he thought idly as he noticed a bush of small pink prairie roses growing a few feet away. But no, there was little time to waste. 

It was three hours to dark and he was still a mile off from the lake. His long legs carried him off at a brisk pace and with a pep in his step, his long dark hair flapping about and sipping from a canteen from time to time or munching on a trailmix of various nuts and dried cranberries. He made good time this year. The trail had been spruced up in the spring, deadfall had been cut away and ankle breaking stones tossed into the bush on either side of the trail. Even the rotting bridge had been replaced. The new one stood in stark contrast to the handrail that rimmed the bank of the creek leading to the crossing. New wood, uniform brown and sturdy next to the handrail that, while still in good shape though weather worn and showing the beginnings of rot on it's very ends, had stood for twenty years. He set off across the new bridge and ended up making much better time than anticipated. 

A sign was mounted to a post at the side of the trail where it forked off to either side to make a ring around the lake. The sign was a simple reminder to respect the park, keep your food secured and to be aware of bears and other wildlife. He hadn't seen a bear in years but deer were plentiful here, and he had once been pretty certain that he had seen a wolverine. 

He looked to both trails in turn and then said softly to trees, "I took the road less travelled by." and turned to his right. He had time. It was the smaller, rougher and more difficult of the two trails but it was by far the more scenic.  The trees were dense around him and though the wind tugged at the crowns of the trees, the air where he walked was sweet and mossy with a crispness to it. It would be cold tonight but the clouds had thinned and he had the feeling that the stars would be out in all their wonder. 

He smelled the water and heard the waves lapping at the shore before ever being able to see it and slowed his pace a bit. Sweat was beaded on his face and he wiped it away, feeling the dark stubble on his cheeks rough under hand.

Ten minutes later Antony emerged from the trees a quarter of the way around the lake and he figured there to be about two hours of sunlight left. Plenty of time, he thought. The meadow he had stepped into was fully bloomed and wildflowers painted the field with color. Wild roses and elephant heads and daisies and buttercup were sprayed everywhere while butterflies and honey bees made their ways about, feasting on the bounty.

Twenty yards from the shore was the camp he had used two years past. They camp that 'they' had used. The stone ringed firepit was dark with soot and someone had kindly left a small supply of scavenged firewood. Why had he come to this particular site again when there were plenty of other spots around the lake to pitch a tent? It was, of course, a rhetorical question. He knew why he had come back. Antony set his pack down and unclasped the small one man tent. It didn't take more than a few minutes to set up and then he unpacked his sleeping bag and rolled it out along with an inflatable air mattress. With the hard work of hiking and setting up camp done, the sweat on his chest and back and neck began to cool and he pulled a heavy wool sweater from the pack and put it on. Finally he pulled out a stainless steel coffee pot, a bottle of water and a small propane burner and balanced them precariously on a boulder nearby. The bottled water went into the pot and he set it to boiling. Sometimes it was nice to use the old burner. His final task for the day was fire. 

He set about collecting kindling from the trees nearby. Small twigs and sticks. A bit of old man's beard where he could find it and a few dried leaves though a good bit of it was wet. The recent rains had soaked everything and he wasn't convinced this would make sufficient kindling. Back at camp he removed the now boiling water and poured some into a tin cup, adding packet of instant coffee and then leaving it to cool before setting about arranging the kindling in the pit. Old man's beard. Twigs. Small sticks and piling on gradually larger sticks in a teepee fashion. Satisfied, he found the matches and put the wind at his back as he knelt. A single waterproof match was all he needed get the kindling started. 

The fire smoldered a bit sending out thick, acrid smoke that burned his eyes when the wind changed. Smaller twigs began to catch and the flames were soon licking up toward finger sized sticks. These were damp and took a bit more time to catch. More than once he was sure he would have to start over but eventually they too were aflame. Gently he set two logs as thick as his wrist inside the fire pit and balanced them against each other. Flames kissed them but the damp wood refused to catch. Soon the fire was guttering and he hurriedly added the last of his kindling, blowing lightly on the smoldering embers. The remaining kindling caught and fire once again licked up the logs and smole drifted into his eyes and he tried to blink away the sting. And just as before, the flames guttered and died when their fuel was exhausted. The sun was beginning to set and Antony had no intention of tramping around in the dark for more kindling nor of going to bed cold.

He layed the two damp logs down and added another one for good measure then kneeled. He focused on the three logs and his eyes seemed to glaze over. Little wisps of silver-gold light flashed into existence like weightless sparks or lightning bugs. Some would flare and then disappear immediately. Others were dimmer and would float about lazily, bothered not at all by the breeze. It took more than a minute before steam began to rise like a fine mist and dissipate in the waning evening sun. The steam soon turned to smoke and the heat began to roll off of the logs in waves. There was a pop and a crack as one of the bottom logs suddenly burst into flame and a moment later was followed by the other two. Another pop accompanied a piece of bark as it shot out of the fire and landed at his feet. Antony sat back on his heels and watched the ember slowly fizzle, finally leaving a thin trail of smoke floating up. The smoke undulated and rose then dissipated as the evening breeze carried it off.

He chastised himself. He had wanted to do things the old fashioned way on this trip but he supposed that there would always be exceptions to every rule. Especially in this new world. 

A dozen or so geese called out overhead as they flew in a lazy "v". Southeast. Autumn would arrive with the first frosts in tow, and soon enough winter and snow. He supposed this would be his last weekend to get out. He stared into the writhing flames for a minute more until his legs began to ache and stood up, knees popping and joints groaning, just then noticing the cup of coffee in the speckled blue tin cup. He'd forgotten about it completely. He stepped around the fire to the rock, picked it up and sipped then made a sour face. Ice cold. Antony focused on the liquid and a few of the silvery light wisps appeared. When steam began to rise from the cup he sipped it again, warmed it a little more and then began to walk to the lake being careful not to step on a rock and twist an ankle in the waning light. He'd already broken his weekend rule once. What was another for the sake of hot coffee?

A log lay parallel to the lakeshore and he stepped over it and sat down, shifting as a knot dug into his rear. Most of the bark had been worn away by weather and animals and idle hands, leaving the smooth wood underneath. The lake was glass but for the ripples left by a pair of loons as they dove and surfaced and dove again. Their calls echoed in the silence as light fog formed, kissing the surface of the water. 

The sun had dipped below the trees now and brilliant pink clouds drifted on the horizon. He watched the loons and he watched the sun and he drank his coffee. Dark came as a blanket of stars unrolled above him and he noticed three other fires burning around the lake. It was quiet though and he could pretend he was alone out here. His empty hand brushed the back side of the log. It was still there. A heart with two sets of initials carved into it in summers past. AR KA. Antony stood and pulled a short camping knife from a sheath on his belt. Then, crouching, he lifted the tip of his finger and focused on it. The finger tip began to glow and when he was satisfied with the intensity of it he dropped his hand and the finger sized orb of light stayed where it was. He began to carve three more letters into the heart.

" nra" 

Antony took a last drink and drained the coffee as he stood and made his way back to camp, the little glowing orb floating a few feet in front of him. As he walked he pulled an energy bar from his pocket, unwrapped the crinkley cellophane wrapper and ate it in three large bites. The fire was guttering now as he approached. A few smaller flames licked up from the remnants but the coals were still hot. Three more logs and a deep breath brought it crackling back to life. Antony retrieved a small collapsible stool from his pack and set it by the fire then sat. He alternated between watching the flames dance, seductive and brief in their lives, and watching the stars drift across a black lake, infinite and eternal. Once he saw what he was almost certain was the International Space Station. Antony wondered if there might be someone up there looking down on Earth and wondering if someone was looking back. 

As the fire waned again and the coals rippled in black and orange, he yawned. His eyelids were heavy, eyes burning as the lids drooped and he blinked the sensation away. At one point he blinked, only to re-open his eyes and find nothing but hot coals remaining. 

"Time to sleep." He shivered a bit then focused on the coals. They shifted colors of oranges and reds and blacks. The oranges faded to blacks as the heat dwindled, guttered, and eventually died.

The tent was cold but he removed all but his bottom layer of t-shirt and long underwear before he crawled into the sleeping bag. Sleep took him quickly and he dreamed of summers past and a freckled woman with long brown hair and summers that might have been and a young girl who looked much like the first.