Today is one of my favourite days of the year.

I am standing on a green meadow with Friedrich, my yak.

My father gave him to me when he was still young. Now Friedrich is three years old. He loves eating grass, and I love drinking his milk.

Today my friends are coming.

I look down the valley again and again.

Then finally I see them.

A small cloud of dust.

Horses.

People.

"They're here!" I shout.

I start running before anyone can stop me.

The first person I reach is Sonsee.

We hug each other so hard that we almost fall over laughing.

We haven't seen each other in months.

There is too much to tell.

Too many adventures.

Too many stories.

We sit on a flat rock and watch the adults build the tents.

The tents of Sonsee's family always fascinate me.

They are very different from our yurts.

Tall poles rise into the air and lean together at the top. The coverings are decorated with colorful patterns and symbols. From a distance they look almost like giant birds resting on the grass.

"My grandma painted that one," says Sonsee proudly.

I nod.

I think it looks beautiful.

A little later another group appears on the trail.

"UKI!"

Both Sonsee and I jump up and start waving.

Soon Uki is standing beside us.

The tents of Uki's family are different again.

Round like ours.

But lower and smaller.

Whenever I see them, I remember the stories Uki tells about winter.

About snow.

About ice.

About houses made from frozen blocks of snow.

I still can't imagine living inside snow.

One day I want to see it myself.

"You have to invite me in winter," I tell Uki.

"Only if you let me ride Friedrich," Uki replies.

"Deal."

We all laugh.

"Did you bring it?" Sonsee asks.

I grin.

"Of course."

I hold up a large leather bag.

"Friedrich's milk."

"I saved it for you and Uki."

Sonsee smiles.

"I knew you would."

The afternoon disappears almost magically.

We show each other pictures on our phones.

The biggest fish.

The funniest animal.

The strangest cloud.

The most embarrassing accident.

Every picture is important.

At least until the next one appears.

Then something even more important happens.

Grandparents.

We leave immediately.

The adults stay behind and talk.

Children visit grandparents.

That is simply how things work.

My grandmother hugs me so tightly that I can barely breathe.

Then she gives me cake.

Uki's grandparents give Uki cake.

Sonsee's grandparents give Sonsee cake.

Then they all give us more cake.

Their clothes look different.

Their words sound different.

Their stories sound different.

But somehow all grandparents know exactly what children like.

Afterwards we lie in the grass because our stomachs are too full to move.

As evening comes, we climb a small ridge above the camp.

Friedrich follows us for a while and then lies down in the grass nearby.

Below us, our camp glows softly in the fading light.

Our yurts stand in a circle.

Between them stand the tall tents of Sonsee's family.

Nearby stand the smaller tents of Uki's family.

Different shapes.

Different colours.

Different stories.

And yet they all belong to the same evening landscape.

Small fires flicker between the tents.

Smoke rises slowly into the evening sky.

Beyond the valley, far away, lights begin to appear.

First a few.

Then hundreds.

Then thousands.

In the distance, tall buildings rise above the horizon.

Their windows sparkle like stars.

For a while we simply sit and watch.

Then Sonsee points toward one of the tallest buildings.

"Imagine how long it takes to get down from the top every morning."

Uki laughs.

"Maybe they slide."

I laugh too.

"Or maybe they have elevators so fast they make your stomach float."

"My uncle said some buildings have gardens on the roofs," says Sonsee.

I look again.

"They must have great views."

Uki points toward another cluster of lights.

"Do you think children play football there?"

"Probably," I say.

"Maybe on the roofs."

"Maybe between the buildings," says Sonsee.

We all laugh.

For a while nobody speaks.

We simply watch the lights.

They are beautiful.

The city is beautiful.

The mountains are beautiful.

The river is beautiful.

The tents are beautiful.

Everything feels peaceful.

Then a thought comes into my head.

I look at Sonsee and Uki.

"Do you think there are children sitting there right now?"

They follow my gaze toward the city.

"Maybe," says Uki.

I point down toward our little camp.

"Maybe they are looking out of a window."

"Maybe they can see our tents."

"The yurts."

"The horses."

"Friedrich."

"Maybe they are wondering what it is like to live here."

Sonsee smiles.

"Maybe they think having a yak is cool."

I look at Friedrich.

For a moment Friedrich lifts his head.

Then he decides that eating grass is much more important.

We all laugh.

I look at the lights one last time.

Somewhere down there, children are probably getting ready for bed.

Maybe they are looking out of their windows.

Maybe they can see our little camp.

Maybe they are wondering what it feels like to wake up beside a river.

To sleep in a yurt.

To ride horses.

To drink yak milk.

To have a yak named Friedrich.

I smile.

Perhaps one day they will come and visit us.

Or perhaps I will visit them.

Friedrich probably wouldn't like the elevators very much.

But I think he would enjoy the parks.

I look at Sonsee and Uki.

"Do you think they ever look up here and wonder about us?"

Neither of them answers right away.

We just sit there and watch the lights.

Tomorrow we will play football.

Or go fishing.

Or climb the hills.

Or do something completely different.

It doesn't really matter.

Because we are together again.

And that is my favourite part of summer.