The Log Cabin

Kia ora and welcome.

My name is Kepler and I would love to have the honour of taking you on a peaceful journey to a coastal log cabin in Aotearoa,

New Zealand.

The story is the first in a series that I have written,

Hoping to create a gentle retreat from your busy life as you say goodbye to the day and welcome the safety and calmness of night.

I appreciate your feedback so please leave me a message if you would like.

Settle in to your most comfortable position.

Make sure your blankets are just right and that your head is supported by a comfortable pillow.

Be aware of the weight of you,

Surrendering completely to your mattress.

Give every single muscle permission to let go,

From the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

We will begin with some breathing to get you into a peaceful and calm state,

Ready for your journey to the cabin.

Once you get any last wriggles and position changes out of the way,

Breathe with me.

Breathe in deeply and slowly through your nose.

Imagine your lungs being filled with pureness and peace.

Maybe you visualise this as a colour or something that means peace to you.

When you have pulled your breath deep into your abdomen,

Hold for a few seconds,

Then release your breath slowly from your mouth.

Now you can imagine exhaling any chaos or worries that you may be holding onto.

Your exhalation can be visualised as another colour or anything that you want to release from your being.

Watch it float away.

Take a few more moments to complete three more breath cycles.

Remember inhaling peace and exhaling whatever you want to release.

This story starts with you standing on a rugged west coast beach.

This beach is in the South Island of Aotearoa.

It is dusk and the rocky,

Black-sanded beach is deserted.

There is seaweed and driftwood scattered as far as you can see up and down the coast,

Remnants of a recent storm.

The ocean spray creates a dense haze along the length of the beach.

Looking out over the vast ocean,

The horizon is a meeting place of dark solid blue and fiery reds and oranges.

You feel a sense of freedom.

You feel deep gratitude for Mother Nature holding this space for you.

The cool breeze of salty air brings a message of the turn of temperature in the oncoming night so you turn towards the path that leads to the cabin.

There is a delicate line of small shells in the sand at the high tide mark which you carefully step over.

You leave behind the sounds of gentle rhythmic waves washing up on the seashore.

Walking up the path you notice some new sounds.

You hear faint calls from ruru,

The native owls,

Calling to each other to start their night while the day birds from the sea and bush are cooing and settling into the evening.

You can hear crickets and grasshoppers chirping and the shrieks of the last of the gulls flying into roost.

The path is narrow,

Just wide enough for one,

And is shouldered along its length with harakiki,

A flax that rustles as you brush past.

You can still hear the waves lapping at the beach,

Although it is getting quieter as the distance between you grows.

It is only a short walk up this path lined with flat rocks and a mix of soil and sand.

This path has been walked by you hundreds if not thousands of times before.

You know every step,

Every bend,

Every large flat rock that you use as a step.

You notice that the rocks have cooled since you walked down the path earlier in the day.

After a few minutes walking up the gentle incline,

A flat grassy clearing forms before you.

At the front of the clearing,

Where the path ends,

Is a tall arch made of driftwood that you walk under.

At the back of the clearing stands the small cabin.

She stands proud and strong,

Wearing her years well with only slight weathering to the horizontal logs that form her walls.

A warm low flickering light glows from the large grid windows at the front of the cabin,

Beckoning you closer.

You walk past the fire pit and bench seat and the raised vegetable garden and step up onto the porch.

The rich earthy fragrance of herbs gently waft into your nose,

As does the smell of the whispers of smoke rising from the chimney.

You can hear the deep soft tones of some swaying wind chimes hanging above the porch railing.

On the porch sits a small table and one chair to the right of the door.

The door is solid wood and has cast iron hinges and handle.

In the middle of the door is an owl shaped door knocker.

You pause here for a moment and run your fingers over the rough metal owl.

It is cold and familiar.

This is where you leave any of your worries before entering the cabin.

The owl will sort,

Minimise or discard these worries as she sees fit.

After wiping your bare feet on the thick prickly doormat to remove the last traces of sand,

You push open the heavy door and step inside.

Closing the door behind you,

You pull the bolt across to lock it with a secure thud and hang your coat on one of the three hooks fastened to a plank on the back of the door.

To your left is a small round dining table with two wooden chairs opposite each other.

On the table are some candles which you light with one of the matches that sits in a small tin on the windowsill.

Further past the dining table is the bed.

It is a double bed with ornate ends and covered with a thick cream quilt and topped with a colourful crocheted blanket,

Blues,

Reds,

Greens and yellows.

Two plush pillows covered by crisp white cotton slips wait at the end of the bed for your weary head.

Looking in a clockwise direction,

There is a partition wall that extends just further than the bed.

Against the wall on your bedroom side sits a large nine-drawer lowboy dresser.

On top of the dresser is a small pile of books,

Another candle in its holder and two framed pictures of you and your loved ones.

On the other side of the wall is the kitchen,

The heart of your precious space.

Against the wall is a long timber bench with large earthenware jars that hold your utensils,

A whisk,

Spatulas and a large assortment of wooden and serving spoons.

Above the bench is an open cabinet that holds a mismatched assortment of mugs,

Glasses and plates.

Under the bench are shelves laden with jars of preserved food,

Dried herbs,

Potatoes and onions from your garden and pots and pans.

Further around you face the window that has already said farewell to the golden warmth of the setting sun.

Under the window is a large square sink that sits within another bench,

Old taps that have a slight green tinge due to their age are hooked up to a rainwater tank just outside.

You turn to the open fire,

Kneel on the rug laid out in front of the stone hearth and remove the safety screen.

The fire has only embers now but you add a few split logs from the woven cane basket and with a few gentle blows it leaps back into life.

Flames bursting up towards the chimney,

Dancing in the dimming light and creating moving shadows against the far wall.

You watch as the wood settles into the embers and the crackling bark separates from the logs and curls up with the flames.

When the fire is steady and radiating warmth you put the screen back in place and stand up.

Your day is ending here,

In a few moments you will be in your bed pulling up the blankets and snuggling into your pillows.

You have earned this sleep,

You are tired and you are safe.

The flicker of the fire and its shadows dance as your body gives way to the night.