A house in the hills...

A house in the hills where the trees stand tall, almost touching the sky. Critters make music day and night. The air is moist and fresh, the hillsides lush and green.

I imagine myself there, opening a heavy wooden door and stepping into sunlight that smells of pine and tea. A low, generous fireplace where winter light gathers, a bell of warmth around whoever sits near it...

Maybe, a kettle that sings at odd hours. Endless coffee, poured into worn mugs that carry the memory of a hundred small comforts. This is the kind of peace that hums, not the one that shouts!

But then I wonder… would I get bored? Maybe yes, maybe not? Would my days thin like tea left too long? Would the stillness turn from balm to blankness? Perhaps not. Perhaps the hill keeps its own small society. Neighbors who drop by with baskets of fruit. A study circle that gathers to argue about a book. A little celebration with laughter and spices and borrowed songs. A circle of friends who are enough and not exhaustingly modern, people who prefer depth over display.There would be people, a small community. Perhaps an arts group or even a one-dish party now and then. A nice knit of people, not the overly worldly, overly complicated kind...

_{and these occasional visitors}

Still, the thought comes back… would I get bored? Maybe yes, maybe not. There would be less noise, more calm. No endless drama, no constant “Did you hear what she said about me?” No one judging my children behind my back.

But what about the kids? There would be internet, of course, and everything they need. Yet they might still get bored. Will their laughter find form in a place where the nearest shop is a winding road away? The internet is a window and a rope; it brings the world close but does not always bring the crowd. They will have screens, yet children also hunger for immediate company and hurried streets. Will they learn to love the silence, or will they learn to miss the city’s constant hum???

Because the truth is, these little annoyances—the gossip mongers, the unspoken rivalries, the struggle of living among them, the summer heat of the plains, and the bliss of stepping into a cool room straight from a hot kitchen — are all part of life.

And up there in the hills, winters are very cold.

So perhaps the answer is not in running to the hills or clinging to the plains,
but in finding the quiet within,
in letting peace grow like a wildflower
wherever life has planted me...

A retreat in this blissful place now and then is what I want… a breather… but maybe not forever...