Cabin Time

As a young girl, my mother used to take my siblings and I to a cabin in Northern Oklahoma. I loved the woodsy smell and the fog that would lay over the lake in the mornings. I miss grabbing a cup of coffee and walking down the long path to the docks. I’d sit on the stairs halfway and listen to the birds chirping along and dream of my future.

If only I could go back there now for inspiration. There's something to be said for those quiet, crisp mornings watching the sun peek above the horizon. The moisture falling from the branches of the thick oak trees and soaking into the ground.

I know I could come up with a dozen stories just sitting on that rusted walkway.

I long to walk barefoot in the grass feeling the cold wet dew between my toes and find an old tree stump to sit on. I'd curl up with a notepad and paper and draw up a story. Surrounded by nature, I would surely write a love story.

If only I could find my way back to that cabin for great inspiration.