Twig Club
Glen and Fran plot a snug den in Sooty Woods.
Sticks, twigs, string—clack, clump, thud.
A flag flaps. The den is set. Club open!
Glen and Fran plot a snug den in Sooty Woods.
Sticks, twigs, string—clack, clump, thud.
A flag flaps. The den is set. Club open!
A small camp glows. Tramp, tramp—steps on the track.
Crackling logs, warm mugs, and soft blankets.
People chat and plan a trek at dawn.
There is a fair at the park.
Birds chirp; carts rattle; the air is warm.
A farm cart sells curd tarts.
A bright kite lifts into the sky.
It dives and climbs through light cloud.
Kids race after it on the path.
Dark clouds roll over the hills.
Cows crowd by the hedge as the wind howls.
No play today because the rain is loud.
At dusk we light small lanterns.
We walk the short path to the old fort.
Once there, we share warm cocoa.
We heat tea and look at the brook.
Soon the steam curls in the cool air.
Your cup warms your hands.
A train once ran on this trail.
They paint rails on signs to show the way.
Their map is bright and clear.
Spring brings soft sun and brisk air.
Who will stack strong sticks for the den?
We string bunting from a branch.
A stone has a code line on one face.
Whose code is it? We take a note.
We make a safe place for finds.