(no subject)
The folks camped next to us at Pennsic kindly invited us to use their private shower set-up. It was housed in an enclosed plastic pavilion on a level grassy area to the rear of their encampment, right against the treeline. There were mats to stand on, a table for supplies and an upright shower head contraption attached to a propane tank with an adjustable (if only semi-reliable) dial for the heat. This was a pretty sweet set-up, and very necessary considering the fierce heat and humidity. I showered pretty much every day, usually late at night or first thing in the morning.
Since coming home I've noticed when showering that, if I let it, some strange echo in the way the water strikes the tiles sounds a little like the chirping of crickets. With my eyes closed I can imagine that I'm there again, or that I'm somewhere else outdoors. Maybe the hot water under which I'm standing is a gently cascading waterfall fed by a volcano-warmed spring (jesus hell that sounds cheesy, but work with me here it's my fantasy). In my imaginings the night is peaceful and temperate, the sky gigantic. It's a pleasant conceit, such that I look forward to showering more because of it.
Since coming home I've noticed when showering that, if I let it, some strange echo in the way the water strikes the tiles sounds a little like the chirping of crickets. With my eyes closed I can imagine that I'm there again, or that I'm somewhere else outdoors. Maybe the hot water under which I'm standing is a gently cascading waterfall fed by a volcano-warmed spring (jesus hell that sounds cheesy, but work with me here it's my fantasy). In my imaginings the night is peaceful and temperate, the sky gigantic. It's a pleasant conceit, such that I look forward to showering more because of it.