I don’t care what they say, that was an end-of-year sky this morning. Lazy, faded orange flowing through layers of fine cloud. Oh, I long for the days of jumper, hat and gloves. There’s something wrong about leaving home at 0800 in a t-shirt.
All this talk of sleeping bags has me distracted. Summer camping is in some ways half-a-job, short nights, sweaty body, the tops all feel lower somehow. I miss sitting in the dark, slipping a hand out of my down mitt to turn the stove up, stepping outside in cold boots to the first flash of dawn simmering on the horizon. Heading back inside and scooping snow from the tent’s porch and dropping it into my bubbling pot to top it up for cuppa #2, that’s what I’m looking forward to again.
At least I’m consistent, summer’s rubbish.