Some years ago I used to spend a week alone up in the mountains. I usually went up to our cabin in mid may, a time of the year when the snow is melting and life is awakening. I'm not going to tell you much about this beautiful time in my life, but I'm going too tell you this:

After a couple of days without seeing or talking too anyone all my senses were used too the absence of noise. Every sound was familiar too me. Birds outside my window, mice in the grass, sheep up in the hill, and the sound of an old tree scraping against the wall. Before I fell asleep I heard a sound I had not recognized before. I was wide awake and sharp, but could not figure out what it was, and that of course, was frightening. Sevral minutes later I found out that the sound was self made; my finger was scraping the matress.

"When I'm alone I'm together with all I'm afraid of!" ~arthur taubo

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