Leaving the city behind
We packed one bag each, a thermos of coffee, and absolutely no plan. Two hours later the skyline had turned into dunes, and the radio had given up somewhere along the way.
Our rented cottage had creaky floors and a window that looked straight at the water. We spent the first evening on the porch, wrapped in one blanket, watching the light disappear.
The art of doing very little
Saturday was long walks, salty hair, and a bakery we went back to three times. Oliver found a shell he insists is the most perfect one on the East Coast. Emilia sketched the lighthouse until her fingers were cold.
It reminded us that the best weekends aren’t full. They are slow enough to notice each other.
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