a beautiful morning. stumbling out of the tent and gradually waking up as I walk down to the beach, silent and calm. sun rising shrouded in mist. tide up again. never would you know that the night before it was low and mysterious, revealing crunchy things to step on and a mysterious seal barking, beckoning us to catch him if we could. bathing in campfire smoke all night, laughing and singing, songs we would never voice in daylight when it seems people are more critical, eyes are more sharp, personas less bold. going to bed, early yet it seems so late away from the artificial extension of light. shivering with nothing but a supposedly 'warm' sleeping bag to shield from the crisp night air, awakening to this new day. crows cawing. could be anywhere- Ontario in July, or BC in Feburary. forgetting about the cold. savouring a muffin for breakfast and a smore. sitting around the fire meandering until midday. this, my friends, is camping. this is what i love.