Lately I have been yearning to live in a cabin. I think it has to do with the city and always wanting what we just left behind. I think it is also the way fall has been sold to me, wrapped in cozy sweaters and ladies lounging on dark worn couches in cabins with knee high boots looking uncommonly flawless for living in a cabin in the fall. I desperately, however, want to pick apples and pumpkins and smell hot apple cider.
I am on the hunt again for consistency. I want something to stave off the numbness of the subway rides, the necessity of becoming accustomed to beggars, the coldness of not making eye contact with person you're involuntarily leaning on because we are all trying to go to the same place at the same time.