The Penrith sky is getting ready
to introduce the sun to Ullswater Lake.
The hills have shaken off last night’s rain
like a sodden Labrador ready to go again.

Our tent is yawning, the poles are stretching
with a youthful flexibility, the sleeping bags
are asking our walking boots to take over.

The bin bag I left outside crinkles. I imagine
Kettle Chips and Cadburys wrappers
talking about how lucky they were
to have an evening under the stars.

The bin bag jumps against our tent wall.
I imagine foxes shouting at us to leave,
a lost brown bear cracking its knuckles,
licking its lips at the smell of my sleeping son.

The zip opens the tent’s porch and my neck
peers towards the bin to protect my family.
A crow eating a marshmallow looks at me.
S’mores again later? it says. Definitely, I nod.

Carl Burkitt 2026