ode to my sleeping bag

This whole post is a BISA. Really. And thanks to Tex for the reminder.

I never want to forget how marvelous is my hybrid sleeping bag. I love my sleeping bag. I'm using the word love here, about my sleeping bag. (and if you get the reference, you win a soft shell). It's down on the inside-- for softness and happy dreams, and poly on the outside, to take on the weather. It's the perfect length, and it has a pocket for my watch (alarm) or a midnight snack!!! I have no idea what they made the lining out of.... but it might just be heaven.

This is what I love about my sleeping bag the most, though-- it's like when I am in it, all of the little spaces in my mind where images can be are filled up with beautiful ones of nature... the cliff in the boundary waters where I took the best nap ever, the steam rising from a hot cup of tea just outside the door of the tent on the inca trail, the sight of my house from the sleepy camping-in-the-backyard eyes of my eight year old self, a mouse scurrying along the log walls of my little room in homaji lodge, the sight from the deck of the stars over half moon lake, the moonlight peeking through the straw walls of my little hut at the bottom of the colca canyon, or the nothern lights over the athletic field at camp... my sleeping bag wraps me up in all of these images and I sleep so happy.
I live in the city now. London-- it's a Big City. There is are no tents or canyons in sight. But I brought my sleeping bag. It's on my couch. I lay on my couch, under my sleeping bag, and look out the back door at my primroses and the pidgeons (and the snails-- I have to nap with one eye open if it's raining), and fall asleep on Sunday afternoons... it's marvelous. I think the next time I am camping, there will be a new image to add to the portfolio. Who would have guessed it would have come from my little flat in London.