I need a break...and solitude

In the middle of a thick, dense Southern forest, there is a little clearing where a snug cabin is surrounded by beautiful, fragrant flowers and a small yard of freshly cut grass. Above the cabin the sky is filled with stars that are not dimmed by light pollution. Huge moon flowers show their eery faces in the flower gardens and a whippoorwill and a bob white trade off their sad stories somewhere in the night. Inside the cabin a kerosene lamp illuminates a window and casts flickery shadows across the freshly scrubbed pine floors. A pot of water is boiling on the old cast iron stove and delicate china tea cups are set in readiness on the solid oak table. From the one large room into which you enter there are three smaller rooms. In one, my children lie asleep - freshly laundered and ironed white sheets pulled snugly around them. In the other, a gleaming metal bed is adorned with a handmade quilt, and a candle sits invitingly on a marble topped walnut dresser. An open window allows the thickly starched muslin curtains to flutter in the breeze. The third door opens into a small bathroom with a porcelain pedestal sink and a claw foot tub. My husband sits in his chair reading. He smiles and offers me a cup of tea as I enter throught the front door. There are no cell phones or major deadlines for the next few days. As I peep into the room where my oldest two children sleep, the baby stirs. I settle into a rocking chair with my baby in my arms. My husband starts to read the Torah to me, and I feel such peace that I know it must be Shabbat. All of the work is done and its time to bask in this moedim with HaShem. This is rest.