Adolescent chatter kept him awake, that and the ground cover digging into his back. Patrick had packed a bedroll but had ended up giving it Fred. He and the rotund leader of the scouts we're sharing a tent. Fred had gone to the land of nod hours ago after the arduous hike into the woods. Still the lads were having a grand time of it. They had long since abandonded the campfire for their tents. Torchlight shone through the fabric and there was muffled laughter and whispered secrets. Patrick knew that he would not be able to sleep so he left the tent and moved towards the fire. He thought about the day, the beginning of the hike when all the boys we're in good moods. This eventually disintegrated when the length of the hike gave way to tears, a turned ankle and then finally to triumph when the campsite was reached. During this trek Timothy's passion for insects shone through, he was able to point out many different things that his Father would have missed. Patrick was truly amazed of the knowledge his son possessed. Butterflies, beetles, buzzing insects all held wonder to Timothy. He rattled off the Latin names and was able to identify which stage each creature was in. Patrick began thinking about which schools would nurture this love entomology.

The spring was slowly giving way to summer and while the fire was not needed for warmth it kept frightfulness of night away. Patrick found the fire illuminating in more ways than one. The flames seemed to tickle the ancient part of his brain. He found contentment in the flames and simple pleasure in tossing in a twig and watching it burn. He couldn't wait anymore he grabbed his pack and removed the letter. Before he had left she had handed him his pack which she had lovingly packed and said, "Have a good time." He took his time lifting up the flap of the envelope. The familiar pink paper greeted him

My dear love,

I am trying to imagine how you are doing? Are you tending the injured, are there many scrapes, bumps, blisters and bruises? Or are all the lads fine and I'm just being a silly goose? I see you in my minds eye in those dark green trousers and khaki shirt in a tent trying to covertly read this letter. I packed a spirit lamp with a small vial of spirits in a biscuit tin in the bottom of the bag if you wished for more light.

At this Patrick's hand shot out towards his pack and explored it in soft pats before a hollow clang announced he had found the biscuit tin. Leave it to his wife to think of everything. He lovingly tapped the bag again before returning to his letter.

Perhaps you are not in a tent but lying underneath the stars. When I was young I did that quite a bit. I would go up to our roof, especially after mum died with my stolen Henley and smoke. I would watch the smoke swirl up towards the sky and float towards the heavens. Can you imagine me beside you, us sharing a cigarette together? I know we have done it before but let me tell you what is in my mind.

We have walked all day into a lovely glen descending further into the glen reveals a stream and we spend so much time enjoying the scenery that we fail to realize that the sun is going down. We decide to spend the night here lest we break an ankle trying to find our way out. You make a fire and have be sit on your brown overcoat. The firelight makes you look young and I rake my hands through your hair to tousle it. You take me in your arms and kiss me, marking my neck and I sigh. You know the one, you always hold me tighter when I make that sound. I can feel your arms around me and I want more. I move to sit in your lap and my legs go 'round your waist. It is you who now throw your head back exposing your throat and I lavish attention on it. I bite you high on your neck so your collar won't be able to hid it and the truth is I know you don't want to hide it. Clothes fly and land in the woods, will they become a home for animals? We don't care, we are in our own world made of pleasure and flesh. The hard wall of your chest meets mine and it is the contrast of hardness and softness that compliments us well. You take down my hair only to grab it in your fists so you can take control and move the attention back to my neck. Your harsh cry is swallowed up by the woods.

Push and pull, up and down we move together. Can you feel it? I can, I can feel the ache now and it is not from gripping my pen. I want you, I want you to know that. I want you to know that I need you too. I'll be waiting.

Shelagh

"Bloody Hell" Patrick whispered in the night. His body had reacted to the contents of the letter and he took some deep breaths to calm himself. He tucked the letter back into the envelope and placed it back into his pack. He lay down beside the fire and withdrew a cigarette and imagined his wife beside him.