Opening the french doors to the gardens revealed an oddly curving lawn leading down to a lake surrounded by the darkest forrest of ancient pines. I could feel the gentle humming of the wind through the needles sending me back to endless childhood afternoons of late summer. About halfway to the lake stood a single lawnchair. There really was no need to try it out to know that you could spend hours in it just listening to the deep silence of the lake.
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