I’ve slept in a tent all this week. I’m on holiday at my parents house in the highlands and near enough to all my family was here, so I was banished to the garden.
A banishment which I have been grateful for.
Honestly it’s been a while since I’ve slept in a tent and I wondered whether my memories were true to the experience.
My first night I was so tired, I couldn’t appreciate the experience properly, woke up at 9 the next morning with the light streaming in.
The second night I lay in the tent and listened to the trees rustling, creaking and groaning their tales of flowers and birds.
The snuffling of a cat investigating the smell of the foreign object plopped into the middle of it’s territory, the hour bells from a nearby church sounded 11 o’clock and the wind caressed the sound back and forth through across the fields.
Most nights I lie in my bed straining for sleep but not this night, the sound of the leaves was an amazing lullaby.
At 1.30am I woke needing the loo and when I left the tent, warm air blew around my legs. I stood on the grass and let the wind blow around me before going inside.
When I came back outside and crawled back into my sleeping bag the wind was howling and it flicked and whisked my tent. I’ll admit it, I was scared and my thoughts went the AT and how much more there is to be scard of.
Even so listening to the world from the view point of a tent, is incomparable. The world is never closer and more important and I cannot wait to lie in my tent every night on the AT and listen to it continuing around me.