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The Lonely Abode

By the pond in the forest he lived

Staring out toward the water, the lonely man thought of the breakthrough in his mind. His thoughts were mostly blank, yet the gentle remembrance of the breakthrough kept surfacing to contemplate and analyze.

Before he was in a busy place full of noises, crowds, and shuffling sounds, chatter kept the atmosphere lively with sound. Now he was near the pond, thinking about the water and the rippling waves blowing in the wind, the sounds were speaking a gospel hymn.

Nature was his friend, although it was indifferent to his presence it sometimes seemed. The seasons were his entertainment, changing the channels of his mind with every color and shifting weather patterns. Snow, sun, wind, rain, sleet, and everything in between, the geographical area was welcoming to many shows of wonder and temperatures of splendor.

He was welcome in his lonely abode near the pond in the cabin made with logs, surrounded by a friendly forest that let the sunshine come inside with ambient showers of warmth. The silence was his friend as well, his mind bringing up memories and thoughts beyond his ability to sway or govern with any semblance of mastery. He would examine them from whence they came, rejecting the bad, welcoming the good, battling with some, and making friendships with others.

Making friends wasn’t hard when the definition of them was broader in the lonely abode. Small animals, birds, fish, warm thoughts, whistling winds, tall trees, sweet memories, warmth, rustling leaves, and drizzling rain, all became friends as though they didn’t have anywhere better to go, nor anyone better to befriend. They had time for him in his lonely abode, time to listen and wonder with him at the mystery of it all.

As he looked out over the water, his eyes were as sharp as ever. He saw leaves rustling and plants swaying, maybe some sort of animal scooting through the settled debris above the ground. Everything was making a living on a cool autumn afternoon, as the man stood watching and thinking of the splendor of it all.


Life presumably was still going on in places he found himself before. Maybe no one missed his presence from the hustle and bustle, as they ambitiously sought some hidden meaning and exciting reward. He was content to allow them to play the game while he spent his time at the lonely abode making endless friends and memories within time capsules soaked in natural bliss.

The trails were made with his every step once he decided to make the momentous move to go forth away from his lonely abode and the peering stations above the water’s edge. Strolling through the paradise outside his cabin door, inspecting the things no one has ever seen before. They may have seen one similar, yet they never saw these, as they had a short life within the paradise of forest trees.

The sounds of nature suited him more than the sounds of city life. The timeless nature of silence when spread out over days, weeks, months, and years. To read a book was profound, like shouting at a quiet restaurant or a library, the sounds of someone’s thoughts blasting into the silence and shattering the dull prodding of his meandering mind entrenched in solitude and quiet respite.

The lonely abode was simple, without the mean devices of technology, without running water and electricity. The pond and nearby creeks were his running water and shower, a compost toilet his indoor plumbing, and the frequencies of the ether his electricity. Each cell of his body was buzzing with surging power from the unknown, each thought a thunderbolt from a generator in the sky.

Modern living was backward in his mind, technology a trap to avoid, and so-called progress a degenerative disease. He was perfectly fine in his lonely abode, making progress through the simple nature created by God.

The lonely abode suited the man well, his friends the most pleasant companions in his genuine endeavor to be well. Time wasn’t a foe like before when city life shoved and pushed at him always to do more. His hands were busy with productive chores, even writing with a pencil in a leather journal full of lore. Most of all his mind was sharp and content, and his blissful heart rendered satisfied with the simplicity of it all. The lonely abode was his precious and peaceful home.

© 2023 Robbie Newport