Darkness envelopes your safe haven, strong winds buffet the camper van, trees creak and moan in the distance, heavy rains lashing against thin metal.

An inner excitement grips you, knowing natures forces are flinging themselves in a frenzy of swirling gusts and darkening deluge.

You feel content, a confidence spreading through you, knowing you’re secure, at peace, protected and dry, while the outside is bedlam, an asylum of maddening sounds, sometimes howling, a monsoon monster of mother nature in full force.

You look at your trusted fox fur blanket and delight in the opportunity to have this moment alone with your senses, hardwired to the frantic activity that beats against the thin but sufficiently substantial shell of your hippy-vintage camper.

Fully dressed you kick off your boots and curl into a fetal form, pulling the fake fox fur around you, so only your face is exposed.

You watch the rivulets of water forming and running across the glass window beside you. The wind blowing streams, and you marvel at the droplets as they skate, join hands and separate.

Warming quickly, you begin to weigh the want to remove your jeans. Sure, you don’t want to disturb the warmth and comfort you’ve created, but their confinement is preventing you slipping further into your daydreaming state, and you’d welcome the indulgence.

You smile, thinking how, if the weather was clearer and kinder, you’d likely not be nearly as relaxed. Your independence compromised, fearing someone might be outside.

But in these conditions, not a chance, you know you won’t see another soul till day break, and you can’t even be certain this battering won’t still be raging when the sun rises, pathetically appealing for an amnesty.

Working your hands down inside the fur, you release the top button of your jeans. The toned skin of your underfed waist sends tender signals of satisfied thanks to your corpus callosum, acknowledging just how good your body feels whenever it’s free.

You squirm, your legs wriggling to free yourself of the denim that hugs you. You push and hook with your feet to work the reluctant material off over your heavy socks, leaving the woolens on to keep your feet snug inside.

Finally breaking free, now it’s the smooth skin of your thighs and calves that take their turn to squeal their delights, hard walked and muscles aching, a fatigue betrayed by their feminine beauty.

And possessed, it would seem of a respective longing to both breathe the night air, as well as comfort and caress one another.

You sense a loving conversation between them as each elegantly long limb lovingly embraces the other, and the sensual suggestion of the Siberian fox fur gently caresses their now naked needs.

You pull your knees up toward you, returning to the fetal form you’ve favored since forever, and whenever succumbing to your undiagnosed addiction for maladaptive daydreaming.

Instantly finding comfort as you again acknowledge how safe and secure you feel in this tin can cocoon, and in yourself.

The rain continues to dance upon the glass, and the sound is loud against the roof and yet this drumming, tinkling tambourine tells you nature is your guardian and her forces are your protector.