Ride through the Memories

he campgrounds are still. The gazebo is empty, main office locked, and through the high windows I look into the dining room, dark and yawning, huge in the silence.

The camp is sleeping and I should sleep too, grab the scant hours of radio silence while I can, but I can’t. My mind is roiling, racing; so many problems, so much to do. Tomorrow’s entertainer backed out, two of the lifeguards are down with the flu, complicated politics in Bunk 14. Two counselors want to switch divisions and the specialty staff ran out of supplies. All day I listened and talked and reassured and promised and…

Night falls, camp sleeps, and I lean back in an empty golf cart and smell cut grass and gasoline. The people, the problems, the promises, a to-do list that seems to stretch to the midnight sky.

There are problems that are bigger than I am, more than a matter of a few phone calls, a larger budget, an emergency trip to the nearest supermarket. I’m not a magician, just a head counselor, but the job description is the same. I need a magic wand.