cabnin

In the cabin there is constant activity and movement. The persistent whir of buzzing wings or the hurried scattering of giant ants going about their daily business. Squirrels are busy climbing trees and birds have new places to discover each day. But for all this, the carefree fluttering of butterfly wings, the gentle sway of tiny pink, yellow, and white wild flowers or high up bristling of pine needles in the wind, and lazy drifting of dust through the shafts of sunlight make the cabin and always peaceful and clam escape, even in the busiest of hours. I attribute it most to the active silence of the forest. Where even in the calmest or busiest of hours you hear the melodious sounds of birds singing merely for the pleasure of it. The skitter of chipmunks clambering up a tree trunk, and the comforting sound of your own feet unaccompanied by any other noise. There may be noise and sound, but when taking a moment to just still yourself you are blind but to notice the permeating, echoing of the vastness of silence- and within the silence of peace and contentment are inescapable.