The window looks out over a thicket of woods, right where the yard drops off steeply into an impenetrable tangle of trees and brush. If you lie in this room and you close your eyes, it is the crashing of waves, and the croaking of frogs and the rustling of leaves that lull you to sleep. This bed, ancient iron with flecked paint and sagging mattress, cradled me the night my truth began to travel home to me. There is peace living in the walls of this space. Peace and simplicity, whispering a reminder of how much I have, and how little I need.