A lethargy of strange forced us to
take refuge at our cottage that summer.
We hoped that once we passed the treeline
we would find safety; a reprieve
from the pandemic
that rocked our world.

The mask of fear we donned
for months and months
came off as optimism
prevailed. But the longer
we were isolated in the
protective forest; amidst
cedars, pines and fiddlehead ferns –

in the sounds of downy woodpeckers
knocking at our door, hoots from
the boreal owl, and the piping of
bald eagles – the less we wanted
to return to civilization.

Fairy lights we bought en route, made
a firefly bottle we hung from two large trees
under which we placed our wooden chairs,
making a comfortable reading nest
as August turned to September. With a

resurgence on the verge, we stayed put, knowing
winter would be hard. But our resolve was
harder still and we found life, renewed. In
the forests of our temporary home, we made
our future – a future unplugged, unfettered,
our lungs full of mountain air

and easy freedom.