This picture makes me homesick:

Nothing strange about homesickness, except, well I’ve never had a home like that. Yes, I know it’s a tent. And no, I am not saying I want to live outdoors. I didn’t spend anytime outdoors until my late teen years. Part of becoming an adult was learning that I liked to spend my free time in water that was not chlorinated. I’m not a hiker, nor backpacker: I’m a swimmer. Lake, river, ocean, whatever. Wild water draws me out of the city like nothing else. I learned that I loved to be in the water all day, and then go through the rituals of making camp for the night, waking up and doing it all again. But it didn’t last very long. Only a few years, from when I was 17 to about 20, and that’s it.

I am already looking forward to Summer. It’s not even Spring yet. I’m excited to go camping. To take the boys to the lakes and rivers I used to spend time at before they were born. They are finally old enough to where it will be more fun than effort to hang out by a lake for a few days. I’m excited to show them the rocks to jump off of, the rapids to float down, the stars at night. And I’m just as excited about taking myself back there.

What I am really saying is that this image invokes such a strong craving that the fantasy feels real enough to be mistaken for homesickness. Feel me? Maybe it’s because of simple the amazingness of it is. The colors, the old lamp, the shape of the frame, the bed with sheets and pillows… I see comfort and escape all wrapped up together.