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My relatives think we’re crazy. We’re over and near forty and choose to camp in a tent. Granted, when the storm hit our second night camping and drenched all our belongings and we spent the night in our car, I might have agreed. However, most times I love the tent.

Morning in the tent:
Sunrise. Breeze billowing the sides. The sounds of fishermen leaving for the first run of the day. The birds cawing. The smells of breakfast across the campground. The sound of the zipper on the door as the first call to nature rushes to be answered.

Afternoon in the tent:
Similar sounds as a backdrop to a nap.

Nighttime in the tent:
All quiet except the waves hitting the lakeshore.  Tent sex.

Ah, tents.

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