Dearest friend,
This week, my partner and I escaped the city for a few days and hid ourselves away in a cabin by the lake. He loves fishing, is a bit of a busybody, and struggles deeply with the concept of sitting still. I, on the other hand, am a reader, a thinker—often too much of one—and a nurse who desperately needed quiet. No schedules. No routines and absolutely no responsibility. Just a pause from real life.
We arrived, unpacked, and turned our little cabin into home for the next few days. The soundtrack was perfect: birds, water, wind through trees. I had my book out in seconds, positioned my camping chair just right, and applied sunscreen with the enthusiasm of someone who has learned the hard way. I parked myself, closed my eyes for a moment, and simply listened. True silence—broken only by nature—is something incredibly precious.
Our days began gently. Coffee in hand, we sat watching nature wake up and get on with its business. Then a short walk, I did a bit of yoga to coax the stiffness out of my body, and back to my chair and my book. Snacks appeared frequently, far more often than my waistline would approve of, but there were no clocks to answer to. No fixed mealtimes. Nothing that had to be done.
My partner lit up every time he caught a fish, proudly taking a photo before releasing it back into the lake, where I’m sure it went off to tell its friends about the strange humans. Evenings were lazy and slow. We lay on the grass, watched the stars appear one by one and talked.
That became our routine. Or rather, our beautiful lack of one.
The mosquitoes, however, did not respect this peaceful arrangement. They invited themselves everywhere, completely unashamed. One thing is certain: never venture into nature without repellent, unless you’re keen on becoming an all-you-can-eat buffet.
Leaving is always the hardest part. You know you have to return to your life, carrying a small piece of that place with you. Wishing you could stay, knowing you can’t. Reality and your bank balance, will never agree. And so you leave, already missing a place that gave you exactly what you didn’t know you needed.
With love,
The Whimsical Mailbox