When you arrive at the cabin, and your feet meet the grass, something inside yields to those blades, the moisture, the soil beneath them.

You surrender, like an inflatable pool releasing air, your shoulders drop, and your lungs expand. You begin telling time by shadows and stomach growls.

That is the cabin. A place where the everyday rules are swept away like the seeds of a dandelion. And in their place, one rule remains.

Enjoy it.