The flagstone path leads me away from the main house, through dark undergrowth and past waterfall to a clearing. The cabin is made of stone, built before the American revolution. A sweet garden wraps around from side to back. The front door is unlocked, and I step inside. The room is stained glass, dark wood, thick and quiet air that smells of books. A side table holds a bottle of Grand Marnier and two glasses. I want to sit at the desk and write and write until my hand cramps and my mind is still but the sun is going down and I feel the pull of home. I close the door behind me and stand in the back garden, feeling the hot Virginia breeze lift my hair as all around me honeybees stir in the twilight.