I always thought sleeping in a tent would be uncomfortable, cold, and maybe even a little scary. Still, when my Uncle invited me on a weekend camping trip, something inside me said, “Why not?” So I packed a sleeping bag, borrowed a tent, and hoped for the best.
As the sun set, everything changed. The forest got darker, but also more magical. The air cooled, and the campfire became our warm, glowing center. When it was time to sleep, I crawled into the tent, zipped it closed, and listened. At first every sound felt mysterious: rustling leaves, distant insects, the wind brushing the walls of the tent. But after a while, those noises became a kind of lullaby.
I woke up early to soft morning light and birdsong. When I stepped outside, the world was cool and fresh, as if the day had been waiting just for me. That morning fruit and marshmallow by the fire tasted better than any breakfase I’d ever had at home.
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