It is quiet now, almost everyone settled into their sleeping bags. I can hear voices here and there, scattered and indistinguishable in the wind. Someone close to our bags is snoring. Some others are talking too loud in my opinion, the lights on their phones too bright. I am already irritable it seems, starting to get cold and cranky.
The moon, affected by the wildfire raging far too close to Saprae Creek, has gone blood red. It is a startling sight.
Earlier a friend dropped off hot chocolate and coffee, much needed as the night turned darker. The IJB and I have talked a lot tonight, perhaps even more than we usually do at home. Separated from the distractions of life like computers and cats, laundry and dishes, we are forced to rely on each other. We are a good team. Strong. Resilient. And occasionally goofy, tossing pillows at each other and laughing.
But that was earlier. Now we are trying to sleep, although the rustling noises from her box tells me the IJB is still working on her homework. The damp is beginning to set in, the cold starting to make itself known. The reality is she and I are sleeping outdoors in a park, not because we are homeless but because we want to understand what it means to be. We never want to forget how lucky we are. We never want to take our lives for granted. We never want to lose our hope, including the hope we find in each other. Together we want to find hope in the dark.