Once upon a time, there was a girl who went for a caravan. She did this every week and wasn't expecting anything new, because she'd been doing this for nearly four months now. So, she was surprised to find that there was still an aura of novelty to it. Walking into the caravan, she looked in awe at the kids who somehow, despite the blistering heat were running and playing as if their lives depended on it. She had to stop for a second and just watch in wonder because she knew that she wouldn't be able to do that; she was pretty sure that she'd never been able to do that. She shook her head and walked inside and was swept into the bustle of the caravan. There's a feel to it, you know. The smell of heat, and kids and sweat and dirt and enthusiasm and crayons and happiness and everything, all enveloped her in its warm embrace, and it was nice. And the kids were wonderful, because they just were there. She was surprised that they hadn't gotten bored of her yet, just as she still found them interesting. And it wasn't any particular interaction that cemented that for her, not on that day, it was just the sameness of it, and at the same time, the newness.