Imperfections

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.