There was one Antique Dealer in England that I loved going to visit. I couldn't have cared less for his antiques; it was the gypsy caravan he had in his yard that captivated me. It was wooden and painted in reds and greens and blues in swirly geometric designs that - if you tilted your head sideways or squinted your eyes just right - became animals and plants and fantastic creations.
The inside was sparse: table and two chairs, bed platform, and room for a trunk or two.
My brother, sister and I would take turns driving the caravan (sitting on the bench and hitching the pretend horses along the pretend paths around England). We eluded robbers and outran highway men and camped along icy streams and mystical groves.
Of all the images of my five years in England, this one will not fade. It calls to me.