A few weeks ago I went alone to a cabin in the woods. Two evenings spent tending the fire, looking out the windows, listening to CDs, listening to the birds, reading, watching the light fade behind the trees, waking with the light, and one long long day to be outside on my own, to walk, to split wood, and to try out my new pinhole camera.
I’m not sure what I was expecting, from being alone out there. But it was strange, how very unstrange it felt. How it just felt perfectly normal at the same time as still feeling quite special. No epiphanies, just a nice quiet time amongst the trees that I absolutely needed.
I lost track of time, but I also recorded time. Kept a diary. Here you go.
Wednesday 10th April
18:55 - I arrived here at 4pm. I have already cooked and eaten my dinner. (pasta, mushrooms, chilli pesto, plenty of cheese) I had a sturdy fire going but I’m letting it go down a bit as it’s got very warm in here. Drinking margaritas from a tin cup. I can hear the woods. Birds. A woodpecker. Gentle spatter of rain. The light is starting to fade.
From my two corner windows, from the bed, I can see trees. Five silver birches. And plenty of others I can’t name. In front of the cabin the ground drops away, and beyond the treeline is a field, bright in the last of the light. Inside the cabin, the bed takes up the whole of one end. The wood stove next to it, a table to my right, a small kitchen counter. The bathroom takes up the other end. There is a CD player, a selection of 5 CDs, a lantern, a bag of firewood. It’s nice not having a lot of things around me. I’ve hidden my own things under the table. I have already washed up and tidied the kitchen. I have finished my margarita and am wondering if I will have another. If I should listen to a CD, or read a book, or just sit and look out the window.