The three boys wandered up to their campsite, picking their way through the rough ground with their bare feet. Their clothes hung heavily on their skin, weighted down with water from the river in which they had just been swimming. As they neared her, stories of adventures wild and wonderful sprang from their excited lips. "There's an eagle's nest down there!" one of them yelled. "You should see the two eagles!" another reinforced. "And there's this really cool thing. You can climb up a tree, really high, and then there's this rope you can swing on to jump in the river! It's so scary!" exclaimed the third. The other two nodded in hasty agreement. "Do you guys want some breakfast?" she asked. "Yeah!" they all yelled in unison. "Well then, get yourselves into some dry clothes, have a wash and pack up your tent. I'll make some pancakes for you while you're doing all that." "Aww, but we wanna go swimming again!" they announced. "That's okay," she said, "you can put your swimmers on after breakfast and go back in." They didn't see her logic. It was plain that they had a dilemma to solve. She could see their minds at work, various expressions passing over their young faces as they ploughed through the problem. "All right," one of them said, "Let's go back in for another swim and then come back later." The other two boys nodded in agreement. The three boys, one ten years old and the others aged eleven, grabbed a snack bar, gulped it down and raced back to the river, ready to take on new adventures and challenges. She looked down at the river, where fine ripples quietly made their way against the current, small disturbances caused by creatures too small to see from her position. A gentle breeze moved the fine downy hair on her skin, small relief in the heat of the dappled sunlight that fell upon her. Murmurings of voices came to her on the breeze from all directions, traces of other campers. She looked across at a group of young men; wondered how they must be feeling this morning after the previous evening's drinking binge. The two that had gone fishing had already returned after only half an hour, perhaps due to impatience, maybe hunger, or simply because their heads were too sore to tolerate the sun's rays reflecting back at them from the water. Or maybe it was because of the noise from the chattering children who were in the water, disturbing all chance of decent fishing results. An older couple walked past her on their way back from their morning bush walk. At that exact moment a trio of kookaburras broke into raucous laughter. The birds paused in their song and one of them seemed to speak in hushed tones, "Oh-woowoo-oh-wowoo." They took flight then and travelled a distance through the bush, where they then broke into their cheeky cackle once more. She wondered about the older couple. They seemed to be retired, enjoying the fruits of a long life of labour. They were certainly pleasant enough; had said hello to her the evening before and jested about the bravado required for a young woman to take three young boys camping. Perhaps they had seen many places like this one and were travelling right around Australia, as many retired couples do these days. Or maybe they had were quietly trapped in mediocrity, living in their three bedroom home in ordinary suburbia after thirty years in the same mundane employment. Maybe they were part of an ordinary, middle-class family with the standard two children (one boy, one girl, of course), who had racist tendencies (despite quite probably being advocates for equality in their younger years), who thought single mothers were all bludgers living on government hand-outs, and who couldn't understand why their hard-earned money should go to anyone else's well being. On the other hand, maybe they had extraordinary stories, had fought for others their entire lives, worked for the Smith Family on Christmas Day, took blankets to people in the streets and had a daughter who was struggling to survive as a single mother in a world designed for nuclear family existence. Maybe they were a couple who felt horror at the indecencies of the world and actually took the time to do something about it. She thought back to the night before when she had heard the boys in their tent, playing "Truth or Dare." The favourite question springing from their lips was, "Out of all the girls in our school, which one would you go out with?" And a little later, when they were all feeling a bit more wicked, "Which one would you fuck?" (this was always followed by excited giggles). The boys swore an oath. "Nothing we say will leave this tent, repeat it after me," said one of the boys. The other two chorused the line back at him without hesitation. "And bla-bla-bla," he continued. "And bla-bla-bla," they dutifully replied. "And bla-bla-bla some more," he said. "And bla-bla-bla some more," they responded. "Put your hand up," he said, "I hereby crucify this oath!" A pause ensued, and then giggles. "You can't kill the fucking oath!" choked out one of the others while continuing to laugh heartily. It was all she could do to contain her own laughter so as not to give herself away - they seemed to have forgotten that a tent has very thin walls and she had heard all of this as she sat by the fire outside the tent. She had gone to bed not long after that, and had listened to the noise of male voices, young and old, on either side of her tent. The boys had been eating chocolate so their excitement grew, and on the other side the young men were abusing each other in their drunkenness. She heard one of the boys suggest that he go to talk to the men, worried for a moment, and then allowed herself to drift off to sleep, content in the knowledge that the other two boys were too afraid to leave their tent. As she sat waiting for the boys to return from the the river, she thought of her child at home. It had been a long time since she had done anything like going on a camping trip. Her son was 18 months old, and the responsibilities involved with caring for him as well as running her own company had taken their toll on her ability to get out and enjoy some free time. She'd been sharing her home with another single mother for the past month though, and this had meant that both mothers had been able to experience a few of their lost joys. The younger of the three boys was the son of the other single mother, and he had wanted to go camping with a couple of friends. Two weeks later the three boys were being driven to the camp grounds. The 18 month old was left at home and the young woman was enjoying that long-lost feeling of freedom. Near where she was sitting, an old alcoholic man was perched near his dilapidated car sipping quietly on a beer. He downed the last mouthful, slowly straightened up to a standing position and shuffled over to a bin, into which he dropped the empty bottle. He then shuffled back to his car, opened the passenger door, reached inside, and pulled out another. What a curious existence, she thought to herself, I wonder how he came to be here. Perhaps he lived out of his car, only driving on to new locations when park rangers saw fit to move him out of their jurisdiction. He looked reasonably clean; maybe he was spending a couple of days away from home so that he could keep drinking without interference. Who knows? she thought. She considered offering him a coffee or some breakfast but decided against it in case he would be offended or embarrassed. Then she decided she'd like to have a swim. She put away her pen and notepad, upon which she had been writing about her experiences on the camping trip, and went to find the rope over the river.