four days all wrapped into two pieces of paper
the cabin is a safe place to go. there, the sounds of the forest overwhelm your ears. the wind on the emerald green water laps at the silvery wooden edges of the dock. a bloom of mayflies lands on the water only to be slurped by trout hiding in the shadows. the mayflies land innocently on your arms and legs, while the tiniest spider traces the lines in your hand. you don't mind, you let them be, they don't bite, they just tickle like the wind as you lay bare skinned to sun the surfaces that haven't seen sun for years and years. you lay bare skinned because you know there isn't another human for miles upon miles, save the lone flying airplane, too far up to look down and see, or even care. a snake swims by, a hummingbird buzzes, a pair of osprey circle. at dusk, the handsome herd of elk whistle and chew the tender edges of greenery. you're quiet, quieter on the inside than you've been in a long time. and although it takes forever to unwind after a day of driving, once you're there, at that little cabin in the woods, it is a tonic, a calm after a storm, a new drug for all ailments. and you never want leave. you never want to go back to civilization.