No more posts
The directions said: “keep the river on the left; the cabin has no address, but if you cross the river you’ve gone too far”. We turned off onto a narrow, weather-beaten road, passed through wisps of white mist rolling down from the mountains and went on until the pavement turned to gravel and gravel to dirt. Where the road ended, we found, hidden among the dewy, emerald spires, the dark river, again--and the cabin without numbers. Without hours even, save the one marked by gray dawn and the other by dwindling amber coals. Each day, between those marker posts, we captured beauty by the fistful and buried it in our hearts to take home with us.