This is what I'm counting down toward

This morning even before I opened my eyes I knew that it was raining. The gray light managed to leak under my eyelids enough to tell me it was raining. And cold. And windy. And winter-like. It's April.

So, for a few brief moments I decided to lay in my bed with my eyes closed and imagine the very best place I would rather be. Here's what I got:

That moment when you awake in a tent, the sun warming the dew-sided nylon, and you shift enough to see the pillowy forms of a friend or two still drooling into their mummy bags. Your nose and cheeks cool from the blue mountain air that's filling your tent dome. Your hips bones remind you that you're now an intimate friend of this particular spot of ground. Brushing your hands along the tent-side, little droplets soak through and dampen your fingers. Necessities nest around you - socks and shoes and bags and headlamps and sandals and blankets and friends. And the sun comes through the zippers. If someone has woken before you, the dim smoke of fire begins to rise in pale shafts over the site, and if you're even luckier, they've started the coffee.