Nestled within the ancient, hollow heart of a mighty oak, my secret shelter takes shape. Sunlight filters through mossy cracks as I pack earth and straw around a simple stone hearth. The clay oven, smoothed with careful hands, rises like a promise against the rough bark walls. Its thick walls will hold heat long after the embers fade, baking bread or warming soup on damp days. Shelves carved from living wood hold treasures: acorn cups, a smooth river stone, dried herbs. Here, deep in the oak’s embrace, the world outside dissolves. The only sounds are the crackle of kindling in the oven and the whisper of wind through a million leaves – a warm, hidden sanctuary rooted in enduring strength.
