A weekend in a rustic cabin is like heaven to me. It calms me and makes me very introspective - which I tend to be anyway. Last night I sat on the cabin porch listening to the rain and the stream below and imagined Waldon's Pond.
The idea of Waldon's Pond has always appealed to me. I wonder as Thoreau did if I could "live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see
if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die,
discover that I had not lived."
Could I last a year in some remote cabin and let the experience teach me?
What I heard in those moments are words I wish I could write to song - ashes to ashes and dust to dust - everything is connected in one way or another. Each breath we take is shared with another and every other who ever was and ever will be. There is no beginning and there is no end. Even if we do nothing, we are part of everything. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. The tree still grows because we once were.