That Tiny Wooden Cabin

Waving my goodbye out the windows of the 
Gray Coach bus for the last time 
Was so hard. 
It was hard to admit I was 
Really going to miss that place 
Something about the fact that’s it’s so final
Made it thrice as difficult. 
The idea that I’d never experience 
That 250 acres of woods farms and mountains 
With the same class
Struck a minorly major chord. 
Last lunch, 
Last dinner, 
Last breakfast. 
Last time seeing that adorable dog
Who finally, let me pet him. 
Last time experiencing 
That Glen Brook thrill 
Of jumping into waterfalls 
And hiking up tick infested woods
And poking at the fire pit. 
It was silly to cry over the fact 
That’s it’s over. 
Crying would do nothing to bring more 
Trips into being. 
But crying was all I had left. 
It was the only way to express my gratitude 
And appreciation 
And attachment 
To the place that at first, I refused to come to. 
It made me a better person 
Just by my going there every year for a little bit 
And setting the outside world down. 
It’s a time warp. 
A beautiful, sometimes dirty and grimy time warp. 
I’m so glad I had the chance to
Step inside it. 
And I left a footprint too,
In the dirt, next to the maple sugar trees,
As something for you to remember me by.