Sunlight filters through the skylight, casting warm stripes across the curved log walls. Rain patters softly on the earth-packed roof, a gentle rhythm above. Bare feet sink into thick wool rugs as hands brush over smooth, sanded timber. The woodstove crackles, its warmth curling through the space like a quiet embrace. Outside, wind whispers through pines; inside, only the sigh of settling logs and the soft clink of a ceramic mug. Buried beneath layers of soil and stillness, the world feels muffled, safe. Time slows. Breathe in the scent of cedar and damp earth—peace isn’t found; it’s dug in, deeply, here.
