I HAVE A CONFESSION to make. I'm an addict, a sky gazer. There, I've said it. But it gets worse. I've also developed this rather odd routine, a quirk, some would say. It goes like this. The moment I wake up, I scratch my assorted body parts, don my John Deere cap, slip on my favourite gumboots and step outside. I walk precisely 50 paces out into the north 40 and look straight up. Oh, I forgot to mention - I'm in my underwear. I don't have to worry about prying eyes: our closest neighbour is a kilometre away. It's all very liberating. At this point, the dogs run up and greet me in typical canine fashion. If I wasn't fully awake before, I am now. I remember how I got hooked. We were looking over our property with the realtor, and I walked out into the yard to get my bearings. I glanced up. There above me was the most gorgeous expanse of prairie sky I'd ever seen. I craned my neck in every direction as the glow of evening sun bathed dancing clouds in hues of purple and gold. A gaggle of geese flew by. I couldn't get enough. I wanted more, needed more ... beauty, life, sky, all unfolding like a giant canvas before my eyes. While I'd been slowly dissolving into the wild blue yonder, my wife, Jackie, had been exploring every corner of the house, and now she came up behind me. "So, what do you think of the house, Mark? Hello, Earth to Mark!" I'd been looking straight up for so long my neck was stuck in place. "Gaaaa," I gurgled. Jackie gave a little sigh, and whacked me squarely between the shoulder blades. I coughed a bit. "What ARE you doing?" she asked. Having had the wind knocked back into my sails, and with the flow of my saliva restored, I amazed myself by replying in a deeply esoteric, existential kind of way: "Pretty sky, eh?" She pursed her lips. A quizzical expression floated across her face. She simplified her question. "TARZAN LIKE HOUSE?" I rubbed my neck, turned around and studied the house for a good two seconds. "Uh, if you like it, honey, then I like it." Jackie flashed me a knowing smile. "Yes, I do," she said. "It needs a little fixing up, but it definitely has a charm all its own." That was eight years ago. Lately, my compulsion to stand and stare at the sky in the near buff has advanced. When the mercury dips to minus 40, I may put some pants on. But by then, my bare legs and other parts of my anatomy will likely be tough as leather and I won't notice the cold. I'll be too busy counting off 50 paces, thrilled with the anticipation of my next fix. Jackie has yet to discover my addiction. So, for the sake of propriety, and to prevent a humiliating confrontation, how about we just keep this our little secret? - MARK BEHREND