Sunlight came through the trees, shining down on leaves of gold, red, and orange. A stream trickled over rocks; branches floated. Beavers had built a dam.

The father and son set up camp under a tall pine, its needles turning brown, ground wet from the morning dew.

They worked in silence. Dad built a fire pit while the son pitched the tent, taking out pole after pole and placing them strategically, four in the corners and one in the middle.  The boy was pleased with his work.  The father remained quiet.

As the sun went down, wooden stools were placed by a fire pop made with wood the boy had gathered. Still, neither spoke.They just sat by the fire watching flames dance and sparks fly. A cup of coffee was passed back and forth.

I miss mom, the son said.

So do I.

They both looked up at the stars.