- Posted February 14, 2014 by
This iReport is part of an assignment:
Winter weather 2014
The accumulated snow and hardened earth must be chipped away until I can open the door just enough to squeeze through. This old and rustic converted shelter affords an unadulterated view of the hill on which it sits and the ravine below. It’s not much, just a fiberglass shell with an old, wooden chair, only large enough for an adult and young child. Perhaps a small stove would be a nice touch. But, it’s my place, my solace from the world outside.
While I sit scrawling in a leather-bound notebook as aromatic clouds of smoke swirl from my briar pipe, I can’t help but feel at peace...at peace with the world; at peace with myself. Here I am hidden; here I have naught to disturb me but the crackling of my pipe, the snow, as it turns to ice, pelting the glass windows, and the mighty wind speaking its voice to all who will listen. It’s almost...majestic...the only experience more regal is the sight of a lone buck, bent against the wind, leaving his tracks across the frozen stream in the ravine below.
But I am not long for this solitude. The world of men beckons me return. Perchance, I could visit again, drawn by its organic lure. Yet, should that day never come, my life will be no less full.