scenes from a quiet weekend

A late night road trip led us north, up the winding hill and towards a small retreat in the Arizona high country (7000 feet elevation). We shared the highway with a few other heat weary travelers, like-minded souls escaping from the perpetual movement and mass of the Big City.

I was barely a teenager when my grandmother bought the place (affectionately called "the cabin" by my family, even though it is really just a small house and looks nothing like a cabin), and it wasn't until recently that I realized how lucky I am to have access to it.

It rained nearly all day on Saturday, at times torrentially. The sound was heavy and comforting. I read a book in one sitting, oh the luxury! while Aaron watched football. Later that night, in the drizzling rain, he grilled us steak and shrimp. I prepared the salads and baked potatoes, and we ate together in unspoken harmony. After dinner, we watched the fire and then, we watched a movie.

By Sunday, the skies were clear and the sun was shining. We grabbed a blanket and lounged together on the front porch hammock. The wind rushed through the trees, admonishing us with a quiet sshhh - gradually at first, and then louder and louder - SSHHHHH! until it was all you could hear.

I like to think that it was protecting our peaceful serenity.