Home again,
I feel as a stranger to the indoors,
The smell of clean clothes,
Imprisonment under electric lighting.

Now I am curly-headed,
Smoke-scented,
Mud-sprinkled.

My hands feel as leathery as
The bulky Bean Boots I wear over my wool socks-
They have been marked by climbing ropes,
tree bark,
the handle of my guitar case.

I crave a return to the forest,
the trance-like feeling we all got from staring at the fire,
the dirt under my fingernails,
you in your sleeping bag (maximum capacity: three persons)
the children on my lap and at my feet.