If I had a dream place to get away from time to time, it would look like this: a small mountain cabin, a rustic porch, a cascading stream with a wooded slope beyond and no other houses in view.
It’s a place for listening to crickets and birds adding their songs to the water music playing among the rocks. It’s a place for thinking, for dreaming, for sitting and being.
Even the misguided notion of interrupting a perfect September respite by stopping to write a blog about it can’t ruin the moment altogether — but that doesn’t mean the interruption shouldn’t be short.
Rest when you can.