Ode to your backpack by the door

Lightly filled backpack,
waiting by the door,
waiting to take its place among
the provisions in my van,
waiting to be transported
to pine-forest evenings
and mountain-morning streams,
you are the image of economy,
the essence of the one I love,
you are all my love needs,
when she distills her happy home
to its few essential things.

Simple backpack she carries
whenever she strays from home,
whether flying south to meet me,
or driving to watch the leaves,
you’re the lightness of my love,
the incarnation of adaptability,
the endearing lack of excess
of a peaceful, uncomplaining heart.

My love is joyful and content
wherever she is and whatever she does.
She’s modest, natural, and kind,
and as helpful and unassuming
as the simple pack she carries.