The Death of Joy

We were pack-horsing our gear to the field.
We were pitching and pegging.
We were shouting hello.
We were gathering in the twilight.
We were drinking.
We were dancing.
We were sheltering from the storm.
We were perched on barn hay bales.
We were smoking and chatting.
We were burning the midnight oil.
We were stumbling.
We were getting our feet wet.
We were zipping up tight.
We were cocooned, listening.
We were dreaming...
...
We were waking, unzipping.
...
We were greeted with crumpled canvas and metal like a giant fist had crushed the camp like a can.

(From my writing workshop today!)