Eerie. A children's camp in the dead of winter. Fog and rain, dead leaves on the ground. Hands that get cold if they're out of pockets too long.
I like seeing camp this way. It makes the place feel more my own; it deepens my connection. But camp's true nature is one of green grass, iridescent with dew; cool clean water pouring over rocks and bodies; skin, pulled taut with energy and youth.
If spring is nature's rebirth and winter her old age, camp sees nature in her twenties and thirties, blooming into herself, vivid and strong and gorgeous, a force of passionate beauty.
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