My aunt and uncle own a little cabin tucked away in the Appalachian Mountains. You have to take lots of curvy roads that dip up and down through valleys then pop you back up to the top of the mountains to get there. It's gray with a fantastic wooden screen door and a tin roof. It sits on a green hill and the sun shines down in air so crisp it makes you feel like a kid again.
We went there a few weeks ago and got lost in all of it's magic.
We fished with water up to our waist and floated on big black inner tubes. We spent hours trying to catch the minnows with our hands in the clear river water and swam with our old dog who was suddenly a puppy again. We built fires and set marshmallows on fire. We did somersaults down hills and chased butterflies. We wore our cleanest dirty clothes over and over. We listened as the banjo made it's way out to the mountains and came back to us.
We played in the river until the setting sun sent us home. We chased our moon shadows and the fireflies that gave us light shows.
The days were full and the nights were quiet.
The world stopped for 8 days and gave us time to enjoy it.