The Cabin

I was walking through the woods, and I came across a cabin. It is deep brown wood, old but still sturdy and dense. The land around the cabin had once been cleared, but decades of overgrowth have taken its toll. The trees are fully grown but not huge; the underbrush is thick. Yet somehow the cabin appears to be in good shape. Incredibly, 2 or 3 cords of wood were neatly stacked near one of the well-maintained doors. There were no lights on. It looked abandoned, and somehow incredibly welcoming.

It was cool and moist walking through the woods. The leaves have started to fall, and there is a lot of moisture everywhere. The ground is cool and damp. Colors are everywhere, but faded; the wet leaves look like an old, faded quilt that had been lying on a dirt floor for years.

I went to the door of the cabin, turned the knob, and the heavy but well-balanced door opened with a click and swung inward. I was greeted by clean air that had the most amazing, complex smell; it registered as pumpkin, yeast, baking bread, bonfire smoke, and sage all at once. It wasn’t overpowering, there were just subtle hints of scent in the clean, dry air.

There is a large, stone fireplace in the middle of one wall, with plenty of space to stack wood and keep the tools to tend the fire and cooking gear. There was a sturdy stone table, a large fluffy chair, and a futon.

I first went and built a small fire, not enough to be an inferno, but enough for some warmth and to enhance the smells in the cabin. I went over to the futon, laid down, closed my eyes, and drifted off to sleep, knowing somehow that I was perfectly safe and free to enjoy the comfort and the tranquility of the deepest draught of peace I’ve had in a long time.

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