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I admit to being a fair-weather soldier when it comes to camping. On the beach the mood can quickly turn desolate and grey. The color of the sea turns muddy brown. Gone are the hues of green and blue. A cold wind doesn't help much either.
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But grudgingly the sun breaks through. A misty sort of half light seeps into the woods.
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Amazingly there might be a hot summery clear blue sky just one mile inland. The coastal fog is infuriatingly impossible to outguess. It's there and then it's gone.
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Even on a hot day, the old growth forest is dark and cool. I love how spotlights of sun will fall on just one plant... lighting it up like a star. The constant rain of tiny cedar needles keeps the forest floor soft and fragrant.
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And of course camping wouldn't be half so fun without the campfire. It's sort of a living archetypal spirit that can be summoned forth. Such a marvel that modern life has lost. Staring for hours into the glowing embers and fragrant smoke... one sees memories... dreams... and forgetting.