Cabin musings

They stare back at you -- the leaves, the sand, the crawfish shell left by a raccoon, the blue heron foot prints, the little clams Amelia collected.

When there is no need to sift the raw from the manufactured, these elements seep into my soul and I feel more alive, more real, brighter, and calmer.

The dark darkness. The quiet quiet. The humming waterfall. All of this fills my senses and I want for nothing.

There is a birds nest on the corner bureau with hungry babies waiting for a snack from mama bird. She flitters and floats from the high places. She know we are here but she is resigned to it. The children squeal as she finds a perch and waits until no one is watching before taking her family a snack.

And the rain. It is luxurious. It hits the tin roof with loud punctual thuds and it is brilliant. A symphony of sound. It promises a cooler day, cooler water, and a greener earth.

This is our place, but we can't stay. Maybe one day.