In my mind fry's flat is perpetually in the middle of December; the grass is green but has gone to seed, the march flies are feeding off a source of arms and legs whilst dodging swatting hands, the gum trees are soaring and swaying in the warm breeze, the freezing yet refreshing river is constantly rushing over rocks and curving around the cliff face, where jumping off is encouraged and the water pool below is inviting. The delighted screams of daring youngster's echoes throughout the valley accompanying the happy laughter of watching parents.
The hot summer sun beats down and the tarp offers relief from the glaring sun but does little against the flies and the general heat and the tents have be transformed into sauna's. "Cheese and bickies" is revered and anticipated around 5 o'clock; the only time that actually exists in a timeless bubble. Books are devoured by the young and old, consuming hours of time yet none at all and endless games of Uno and president played though monopoly is never attempted by intelligent choice.
The night is lit up by the camp fire, marshmallows roasted or in some unsavoury cases burnt beyond recognition, games play, scars earned whilst playing said games, stories told; always exaggerated, face's aglow with laughter and fire light, shooting stars, satellites and planes spotted and peaceful silences. The sun sets with a brilliant flourish of oranges, pinks and reds, the animals of the night awake as the ones of the day sleep, the moon appearing to watch as the night unfolds.
The mornings are a painful time, the birds making a racket waking the entire valley, the rivers persistent white noise, the suns insistent light and the overwhelming heat within the tent and in one's sleeping bag. Struggling out of the tent you are introduced to a new world, one that is covered in the morning dew that is clinging to spider webs stretched through the grassy field, sparkling in the morning sun rays, a world buzzing with new life.
While it has its imperfections it's what makes it even better, it makes it real.
It's imperfectly perfect and it feels like home.
