Deep in the whispering pines, I stacked river stone with mud mortar, crafting walls that breathe and endure. My secret? Patience, and letting nature guide the shape. I carved a chimney from slate, forged an iron stove from scrap, and lined the floor with moss-thatched cedar. Nights glow amber—crackling fire, herbal steam, wool blankets. No nails, no grid, just ancestral wisdom and silent stars. This hearth doesn’t just warm—it sings. The forest nods in approval. Here, solitude is sacred. Here, I’ve built more than shelter. I’ve built soul-fire. Cozy. Eternal. Mine.
