There's a cabin at the Morris Arboretum made of rough hewn logs. It's small--just a room with a fire place and a few windows. They built it right on the small stream that runs through the property. It reminds me of an old-fashioned hunting camp. We were walking past it this morning, ambling across the bridge and listening to the happy trickle of the stream, and the logs caught my attention. I love the pattern, the softness of the weathered wood. I love the color--pale and smooth. I love it's imperfections.