This was the second to last weekend at our cottage before we must close her for the winter. This morning, while her fuses (no, she has not yet heard of circuit breakers) went a little haywire, I took the opportunity to wander around the forest nearby while the men folk did their magic.
And what I found was a magic of my own.
There is nothing quite so peaceful as waking amongst the trees. Our cottage is built on stilts into the sand dune and my little nook sticks right out into the tree heads. I wake to the birds singing and the fluffy black squirrels playing around in a way only the truly wild of their species know how to. I always try to burn the sight into my mind so that I can pretend I am always there but there's no replacement for the quiet joy that spreads through my body as my eyes behold the new day.
When I wake each day, it's with a sense of relief.
When I wake in the forest, it's with a sense of being.
Perhaps, someday, when my wings have been tired from all their adventures,
I will build my home somewhere tucked deep away in the forest,
and I too will play, as only the truly wild of my species know how.