On a quiet fall day in the mountains, we got lost in the woods. I say 'lost', but getting lost was the intention, so maybe there should be a different word for it (looking at you, John Koenig). In a valley below two rolling mountains which appear shorn to a thin smattering of forest by previous fires, a quaint guild of small vacation cabins sat empty, abandoned, talking to themselves about their former glory days. It was hard to hear them over the deafening silence of the stillness, but if we had listened closely enough, we may have heard their discourse.
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