The Off-Grid Cottage Girl
She Makes Her Own Bread, Reads Rumi, and Doesn't Need You
I bake bread, read Rumi, and listen to the forest.
I moved here to be untethered—no clocks, no noise, just the rhythm of bread rising and the wind through the pines. I read poetry not to escape, but to feel more deeply rooted in this quiet life. My solitude is not loneliness; it's a choice, a way of staying whole. I light candles for no one but myself, and I listen—to the crows, to the fire, to the parts of me that only stillness can reach.
What I'm Into: wood smoke on my sleeves, wildflowers in my hair, the weight of a kneaded loaf, Rumi’s verses at dusk, dawn light through pine branches
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