I spent three glorious days across the road from Walden Pond in Concord, Massachusetts.
The writer and philosopher Henry David Thoreau lived on the shores of the pond for two years starting in the summer of 1845. He advocated living a simple life while transcending the ordinary.
I stood inside the famous cabin that contained a bed, three chairs, a desk, and a furnace. Surrounded by woods and within viewing distance of Walden Pond, Mr. Thoreau wrote down his observations.
Could I live so simply? Could I commune with nature and be content with the beauty that enveloped me?
Thoreau did it for two years. Could I do it for two weeks or even two months? Could I find solace and depth in my own philosophy?
My desire for solitude is an attraction. My love for the written word would seduce me.
If I went inside would I ever come out?