There Comes a Time . . .

. . .when changes occur you least expect. In my case, the cabin is no longer ours; our son has sold the property.  I cannot  enjoy the serenity that get-away provided me -- my knees won't propel me up and down hills, steps, or on the irregular slope that houses the beautiful trees that burn with color each fall. It was a wonderful visit for eight years.  So the photograph will be taken down and you will be staring at me. Not quite the same.The small cabins are prettier. I'm still the Cabin Writer, no doubt about that. Inspiration comes, anyway, from all avenues of life.