Lamplight (89/365)

The lamplight glances off my wall, through the colored shades, with a glow that makes my heart tingle.
It reminds me of the rainbow bed tent I had when I was little, which was the COOLEST thing.  Every now and then my dad would assemble it for me, snapping together the yellowy plastic tubes that became the tent poles (they made me think of ziti), and stretching the cover over the poles, over the bed, into an indoor camp.  I would also be allowed a glow stick on those nights, which heightened the excitement.  In the morning the sunlight shown through the rainbow-colored nylon, and I would lie and watch the colors: how they swirled and shone.