2018 Writing Scrapbook

Little Cabin in the Woods

I looked out over the valley. A fresh, spring rain had coated the countryside overlooking the village. I could see a glimpse of the cabins through the trees. Taking a step outside and walking over to a slender oak tree, I smelled the lush air around me.

Isn't it beautiful?

The clouds?

No. The smell of the rain. The water trickling off the leaves.

He held his arm around me, kissing me on the forehead and rubbing my swollen belly.

Well I suppose it is.

Just look at it, John. Don't you see it?

I do, Elizabeth. I really do.

Well then tell me what's there.

He let go of me and took a step forward, sprawling his arms out into the air, feeling the wind blowing through him. The breeze rustled his hair, the ferns and the grasses brushing past his knees. He closed his eyes, leaned up to the heavens, and breathed in a deep whiff of the elements. Then he opened his eyes and motioned for me to stand next to him.

I see the dew cast across the plants, and the birds chirping with the sound of the river beneath them. I see the golden grasses lapping at the wildflowers, and the mountains coating the horizon. I see the sunlight peeking through the clouds, and smell the cool air and the mist. And it's beautiful.

I hugged him, kissing him long and hard on the lips. Then a burst of sadness came over me.

Where are we going next?

He pursed his lips and looked at the landscape. Putting his hands on his hips, he was silent for a moment, as if he were looking for a new destination. Then he turned back to me.

That's the thing. I saw something else out there.

Oh.

Do you know what it is?

No.

I saw you. And I saw me. And I saw a log cabin here in the woods, where our children can run and play.

He turned around to face me, pointing right behind us at the clearing we'd passed.

What does this mean?

I think we're home.