Sand

My Kelty Redwing backpack is folded up in my closet. Cramped on a shelf next to a box of old textbooks and forgotten letters, my backpack, like me, would rather be elsewhere.

Gloomy New England is no place for an active pack such as mine. There, the pack's buoyant purple, teal, and navy blue colors seem lost in shadow. Helpless, I do likewise, and watch my skin turn from a healthy tan to sickly white. We can hardly wait for the upcoming vacation. I take my pack to and from school with me. Holding up to 5600 cubic inches, my pack feels comfortable on my back even with sixty pounds of gear.

During winter vacation, I usually take a skiing trip to a cabin in the Washington State Wilderness. Loaded with everything from Monopoly to a waffle iron, my backpack shields me from snow dripped by evergreens. It never actually skis, but my backpack wouldn't dare miss a downhill ski trip in the Rockies of Idaho. I leave it in a lodge or hotel room to relax beside the fire, because it's too cumbersome for a ski lift. While my friends and I pursue a game of contact snowball fighting on a frozen lake, I look up and see my backpack leaned up against a frosty window, undoubtedly watching us.

Winter vacation ends rapidly. Nylon straps get tangled, YKK zippers get stuck, and in resistance the Kelty seems to weigh more than usual, but I win the fight and return it to school as scheduled. Though a battle ensues in returning to school, departure from it is effortless. Stuffed to the brim, my Kelty finally migrates west at the end of the school season.

Summer is definitely our favorite part of the year: little confinement, and every weekend off. A camping trip on the river, and we bask in the sun as our natural colors return. My backpack approves when loaded