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The time is 6:48 PM. The date is July 29. The temperature is 53 degrees.

Say what?

I'm in one of my moods again. You know the one: I'm listless, quiet. I go out of my way to avoid conversation, crowds, individuals, anyone at all. I find a quiet place, close my eyes, and find myself in my cozy log cabin somewhere deep in the mountains. Outside the window there is a wide grassy meadow, divided by a cold mountain stream. The meadow is ringed by a think pine forest, and the whole thing is guarded by a wall of mountains.

The horses are over by the barn. There's elk meat curing in the smokehouse. There's a fire crackling in the hearth and two dogs sleeping on the bear skin rug in front of it. There's an elk roast simmering in the cast-iron dutch oven.

I'm standing by the window in my favorite flannel pajama bottoms, a warm mug in one hand. I can feel the cool evening air pushing through the glass. It's going to snow. In the distance I can see a large bull moose by the creek. I watch him for a long time until he finally ambles into the green-black wood. I turn away from the window and the pine floor quietly creaks beneath my bare feet. Dinner's ready.

If heaven exists, this must surely be it.