Polum Chill

It was bright and colorful.

The plants and bushes around the edges of the garden smelled good, and there was a bird in one of the small trees singing out for its mate somewhere.

We walked to the back fence to find nothing out of place and looked over the bushes in front of the paneling to check if anything lay behind them.

We found nothing.

I walked around the edge of the whole garden once more while Chris tried whistling to the bird.

It cocked its head from side to side trying to figure him out.

It was a warm day, perfect for camping that evening, I decided.

We talked as we filled a couple of rucksacks with sleeping bags and some food from the kitchen.

We didn't want to set up a fire, so we packed some tinned hot dogs, bread, a packet of tomatoes and chocolate, as well as some bottles of water.

"'There's a forest just next to my house, which is actually pretty good,' Chris explained."

Our garden backs onto the edge of it.

I stayed in a tent there once with my dad for my first little camping trip when I was like seven.

I remember I was so excited at the time.

I thought we were really roughing it like some hardcore mountaineers.

Chris laughed at himself.

If we get too cold or need more food, we can just go to my house.

My parents are out, so we'll have free run of the place anyway.

Yours are away too?

I questioned.

It's their anniversary, so they're out for the night, he explained.