The Last Open Campsite

October belongs to the stubborn.

The summer crowds have gone home. The water taps are shut for winter. And the last open campsite sits at the end of the loop with its fire ring stacked and waiting.

Dark arrives early. So does the cold.

You pull on a sweater, light the stove, and watch your breath drift past the window.
Nobody is playing music next door.
Nobody is next door at all.

It turns out this is what you were driving toward: a small light in a large night, and the rare feeling of having the whole place to yourself.