Alone by the river, I practice the quiet art of bushcraft. Shelter rises from branches and bark, a snug refuge beneath the trees. Meals come from careful hands—hooks baited, nets mended, fish grilled over open flames. The river provides, asking only respect in return. Nights are silent, broken only by the crackle of the campfire and the call of distant wildlife. Here, solitude isn’t loneliness—it’s peace. Each sunrise brings new stillness, each cast of the line a meditation. In this wilderness, I find everything I need.
