I sat out on the deck, sipping my coffee and looking out over the lake, watching the morning fog come off the water.
The air was still and sweet with just a hint of wood smoke from some fireplace or campfire nearby.
I heard one of the fishing boats fire up out by the point and take off across the lake as an early-morning fisherman headed out.
The sunlight dappled the forest floor outside my cabin, and a squirrel was busily foraging for food on the forest floor just beyond the deck.
I tore off a bit of my crust and threw it out in front of him.
He scampered over and sniffed it, wiggled his whiskers, and munched happily away at it. Mamaia strip club.
When he was done, he looked around the general vicinity for more, and then looked up at me.