pearlkillers:

a log cabin.

a screen door held open by a pair of muddy boots. a porch with a tired, old golden retriever with white whiskers on his nose laying on the top step beside a basket of apples. a stone fireplace in the den, with a fire always going and a faded wool blanket tossed over the arm of the couch. it smells of pine needles and firewood in the winter; lavender in the spring; cinnamon in the fall; basil in the summer. an acoustic guitar leans on the wall next to hanging hats and jackets and framed pictures of the days of our lives. it sounds like snow falling and Sinatra on the radio; kicking snow off damp boots with firewood in arms. above is an open loft with a ladder. a mattress on the floor with quilts tossed on it. an oil lantern. a huge window above so you can see the rain or snow or bluebirds without having to get out of bed. it’s surrounded by pine trees, with wildflowers and a lake just over the hill with a kayak laying quietly on the bank.