Treeplanting July: This is my World.

A routine calm seems to have mantled my everyday here and now. But it is this illusion of regularity, I find unsettling. The vision is held together by a thin thread. Appearing to always be there: truck in the morning, cache down the road during the day, mess tent in the evening, bar/laundromat/resturaunts-on days off, and in the camper sleeping next to me each night. But under a surface of habit flutters the thought of life after July: the Joel coefficent, that bit that holds my pieces together---abruptly removed.

Dread at the thought of August when the calm will fall away to reveal my trembling, bug biten skin.

We get back to camp in the late afternoon and he finds Kerry; they slip off to the trucks---fogging the windows with reefer film. At dinner, we chat with fellow campers. Then he'll go off with Kerry on a private adventure down by the lake. I'll sit with Tony and the girls and drink wine/whiskey, play Eukure. Guitar melodies. Laughing. Touching arms. Being normal. But there are whispers of him in my head. Not a drop leaks. Poker-face Penny. This is our secret. No one consulted. No one's approval. Silence. Us.

When the shadow's deepen, I'll slip away to the camper. Ducking and weaving through the village of tents and trees so to be unseen.

A note left pinned on a tent. A sly grab under the table. A wink. An ass-pat at the reefer. Our secret communique.

Some nights, he'll come back early and hang around the mess tent. Flitting and flirting. Talking loudly, drinking tea. And we'll both wait until all the people drop off to bed before heading off hand-in-hand to our sleeping cocoon. Threads and threads of downy to lose ourselves. Transform ourselves. Hide us away 'til morning. Pillows. Warmth on cold nights. A comrade to complain to when the nights are hot. Noseeums.

Dusk. And finally, Words! An entire day's thoughts come pouring out to meet the setting sun. Numbers, motivations, struggles, politics, yearning, judgement, nothings. nothings, his eyes-hands-focused freely on me, laughter. and calm.

A possesive grasp of my waist on the way up the ladder.

Animal Intensity. He grabs me up and throws me to the snarl of sheets and long-johns and pillows and attacks.

Or, delibrate and desperate. I soak him in. Hands in hair. Fingertips on face. Mouth on neck. I grasp for his strength. Awareness of being so weak and alone, that only a summer of isolation can bring, opens me up to him. Bulky pillars of tanned arm wrap around my openness, and I am fortified against the frustrations and failures of the day. Our noses touch as we drift off to sleep.

In the morning, I'll wake early. He stays sleeping. I slip quietly down the ladder, feet thudding onto dew covered ground. Down past the sleeping camp to my tent to get prepared for the day.

Breakfast. Trucks. Row after row. Bend, insert hand, step---drop-flag. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat...

His face appears at the open window at the end of the day: sweat, dirt, electric blue eyes rimmed in red. With a grin, he squeezes his long limbs into the truck. Electricity pulses through me. My stomach tightens. We sit side-by-side, barely talking. He passes out against the window, and I'll chat with Mary. Laugh loudly. Breath-even. Eyes averted from the sleeping figure at my side. But I feel his leg touch mine every time we hit a bump in the road. And my mind fast-forwards to dusk.