Thinking about camping in the campground that my family has gone to since I was a kid, sitting around the campfire, and imaging the scents of the wood fire, and coffee, and pancakes, and the sound of oak and pine needles crackling beneath my feat, and the whoosh of the breeze through the pine trees, and the sound of wood peckers conk-conking the trees, and the sound of the water spigots squeaking and splashing water onto the rocks, and the sounds of other campers talking and echoing through the woods, and the sound of the zipper on the tent, and the scent of the fabric from the tent, and the feeling of contentedness and serenity that I feel in that place.