Rain hammers the forest canopy as I heave another log into place, mud clinging to my boots. Alone in the wilderness, the rhythmic downpour drowns out thought, leaving only instinct. My hands, raw and numb, secure the timber with stubborn resolve. Each step forward is a battle against slipping earth and fatigue. The cabin rises slowly—a shelter born of willpower. Thunder rumbles like approval. Water streams from my hat, yet I tie down the roof beams, lashing them tight. This is more than construction; it’s communion with solitude and storm. The cabin, though unfinished, already stands as a testament—simple, strong, and mine.
