I love choosing a mountain of wooly sock and sweater goodness in anticipation of the Harvest Moon Festival.
We will be chasing the chill all weekend in our long underwear.
In perfectly toasty footwear.
I love tucking all my chins into my friend's shoulder for the celebratory road trip up to Clearwater. It'll be the last time in a while that we will see any of our skin bare.
Our bed is spread with munchie snacks and tastey sips. Occasionally we make the "honk, honk!" semi truck arm salute to the men miles ahead of us behind the steering wheel.
It's always wise to pack the spare key.
We are headed towards spontaneous dance parties.
and toasty campfires.
High end 6 Star sleeping accomodations.
The water drum and costco granola drums never sounded so good.
Even the dogs are compelled to sing.
People think we're telling big, bold lies when we talk about how much fun we had camping in four degrees. But we weren't defying premature winter so much as we were celebrating life, all bundled in socks, and moccs and curling into one another.
On this harvest moon.