Sunlight now floods the wooden floor, warming toes and spirits alike. Where shadows once clung, golden mornings dance. The forest outside—emerald leaves, drifting clouds, darting birds—feels part of the room. No lamp compares to this living glow. Evenings soften with amber hues, no need to rush for candles. The breeze slips in gently, carrying pine and earth. I read, dream, sip tea—all bathed in nature’s rhythm. That single pane didn’t just admit light—it opened the soul. My cabin breathes again, alive, serene, and utterly, deeply home.
