At this time of the year, when there is a nippiness in the morning breeze, when the sun is out to tickle your nomadic quest, when the sky is a clear blue that could only be matched by a child's imagination in his drawing book, when the clouds tell you "go ahead, we wont take a leak on you", when the birds chirp over your head as you look up at the sky, when the world is covered with a blanket of morning laziness, when the darkness of the night feels haunting but not threatening, when the haziness of the morning fog could be penetrated only with one's curiosity, at this time of the year, I wish I had a Gypsy.
There's a Gypsy in everyone.