On Friday afternoon, we gave notice to the world around us:
you have approximately three hours to drain our minds and hearts with news of civil unrest and violence and prejudice and criminal intent and holiday advertisements of you-gotta-have-this and you-gotta-give-this and you-gotta-do-that and work emails and deadlines and traffic noises and sirens in the middle of our neighborhood and...and...
And then the towns became fewer and farther between. The trees outnumbered the count on city limits signs. There were cows in front yards and Rudolph painted on the side of rolled-up hay bales.
It got dark quickly. We took a turn onto one county road, then another, and yet another. Our tiny-house-cabin was tucked into the back left of a gravelly cul-de-sac, three like-neighbors barely seen through the scraggly forest.
Stepping out of the car, we took in lungfuls of cool piney winter air, letting the dark enfold us like a blanket before the chill set in and forced us to step inside.
On Friday evening, we took notice of each other and the world around us.
|Raindrops on a pine bough at our weekend Getaway.|