The wind howls outside, shaking the ancient chinking of the log cabin. Inside, the iron stove crackles softly, spitting embers into corners. I sit wrapped in heavy wool, watching snowflakes swirl against the frosted windowpane. The blizzard rages, a white fury locked out by timber walls. Every creak of the settling wood sounds like a whisper. The scent of pine resin and woodsmoke fills the air. Here, alone in the wilderness, time slows down. The storm is loud, but the cabin is a sanctuary. Just the fire, the wind, and the quiet rhythm of breathing. Peace found in the cold.