The mist hasn't decided whether to lift. Coffee from beans that grew a hundred steps away.

A walk that isn't about steps — pepper vines, a curious dog, an estate manager who knows every tree by name.

Lunch that travelled ten steps. Tomatoes still warm from the sun, on a long table under the canopy.

The light turns amber and everyone drifts toward the fire. Someone brought a guitar. Nobody checks the time.

The city forgot this many stars existed. The kids refuse to sleep. Tonight, you let them.