The Lodge

index~~element25The Lodge

Our hosts greeted us, thick Texas accents surprising in
the soft twilight of Colorado nightfall.
To the best suite were we led, the long low lodge jutting
boldly off a narrow precipice,
Falling sharply to a stream, barely heard, far below.

The room was spare, two beds, a shadeless lamp casting
stark shadows on paint-chipped walls.
The heat inside was stifling, musty, this best room not oft used.
But a broad planked deck lay welcoming, a hot tub close to hand.

A home-cooked dinner beckoned, if’n y’all like chicken, fried.
We ate our fill, the beans, potatoes, rolls all satisfied,
Then made our way back, light-less, along the cedar deck.

We were the only guests that night, so boldly did we go
Clad only in our undies,
to settle toe by toe into a beckoning hot tub.
We giggled at the froth, the wicked bubbles rose
to tease and tempt and sooth, a tickle of the nose.

Darkness slides in slowly atop this mountain home.
Retrieving, wrapping, seeking, we turned to watch the flow.
Then, city eyes turned greedy, whiplashing to and fro,
as one by one we watched the glistening stars unfold.

Companions now in silence, sweet whisperings
of nothing special, no tangled web to keep.
A blackness wrapped around us, the stars almost in reach,
soft breezes gently stirring, a chill caressed my face.
The asteroids broke above us, cascades of pearls descending,
defying time and space.

I heard it first within, my bones reverberate, as up my spine
did feel the fullness of the sound.
A long, low mournful moan that crescendoed off the hills
A thrill, a chill, a fear, a prelude to a kill.

Our city ears did tremble with longing and delight
as closely did we peer into the thick good night.
The challenge, loud and raucous, did mock us as we sought
To capture with our eyes the lean and lethal foe who dared to
own the night.

The hills moaned for forever, as quickly did we rise, to seek the warmth and shelter
within that sturdy lodge.
The stuffiness dispelled now, as into bed we leapt, to listen
breathless, floating, to silence black and deep.
He came no more that evening to entertain, to thrill, though my bones will hold forever
That strange, unworldly tone, and in the blackness brewing, his freedom will I keep.


About Nya Rawlyns

Crossing boundaries, taking no prisoners. Write what’s in your soul. It’s the bass beat, the heartbeat, the lyrics rude and true. Nya Rawlyns is the pseudonym of a writer who cut her teeth on sports-themed romantic comedy and historical romances before finding her true calling in the wilderness areas she has visited but calls “home” in that place that counts the most: the heart. She has lived in the country and on a sailboat on the Chesapeake Bay, earned more than 1000 miles in competitive trail and endurance racing, taught Political Science to unwilling freshmen, and found an avocation in materials science. When she isn’t tending to her garden or the horses, the cats, or two pervert parakeets, she can be found day dreaming and listening to the voices in her head.
This entry was posted in Blog and tagged Colorado, vacation. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to The Lodge

  1. M. Peters (@MPetersDesires) says:

    There are no words to describe how much I love this. But my favourite two lines are definitely here: “Then, city eyes turned greedy, whiplashing to and fro,
    as one by one we watched the glistening stars unfold.” Greedy eyes… Dear God, you don’t just have a way with words – you command them, and they bend blissfully to your call.


    • Nya Rawlyns says:

      Thank you so much!



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

Gravatar Logo

You are commenting using your account. ( Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. ( Log Out / Change )


Connecting to %s