After the dishes were washed and drying in the rack, I pulled on my boots and stepped outside.
The air was still crisp but warming fast. The kind of autumn morning where every sound felt sharper than usual—pine needles underfoot, the breeze threading through branches, birdsong rising and fading in little bursts.
I wandered around the side of the cabin, taking in what I hadn’t seen the night before.
The grass was wild and uneven, patches of clover pushing through last season’s leaves. The cabin itself stood in a natural clearing, the woods forming a circle around it like silent witnesses.
In daylight, I could see the weathered boards, the moss along the base of the porch, the faint green tint on the window frames. It was old, yes. But solid. Rooted. Like it had been waiting for me to sh
