Hidden in a grove of trees in northern Oregon is an overgrown, muddy path. Its entrance is obscured by blackberry bushes and tangled weeds. As the growth is pushed away, the trail is only visible by the substantial amounts of mud evident through the matted grass. Even in the summer months, the path remains soggy from the steady northwest rain. This trail was once used for a single week every summer, a place of refuge, …showed first 75 words of 444 total…

…showed last 75 words of 444 total…now- a time of relaxation and peace. Too soon, the sun sets. From the tree-seat, the explosion of crimson and violet is readily visible. As sunset turns to a milky twilight, the moisture of the river and the weight of the air cast a chill over bare arms. The sanctuary remains just as it was before the disturbance. The ascent up the muddy path is reluctant, as it will be another year before the return.