End of the season

Nine family members gathered at camp on Saturday, a small enough group to fit around the wooden table in my parents’ cabin if we didn't mind knocking elbows with each other. Because the weather was cold and windy, we played cards and board games inside. Every few minutes we’d hear a knocking sound as acorns came tumbling down from the oak trees, plinking against the roof. When the sun came out, we took a walk through the pine forest. My father had already pulled his sailboat out of the water for the winter; the dock always looks empty to me without the mast coming up through the cattails. After dark, when I stepped out of the cabin, I heard a wild scurrying, rushing, and click-clacking as small creatures dashed up the oak trees. When I shone a flashlight up into the branches, two small raccoons looked down at me.