…You’re welcome to sit if you’re not in a hurry.

That’s the thing about this place—it don’t move for you. The chair creaks when it wants. The tea stays hot until it don’t. And me? I’m exactly where I feel best.

Name’s Rhea. Been out here just east of Dallas, Oregon most of my life. It’s not a place full of lights or loud stories. We don’t do fast mornings or empty compliments. We stretch. We listen. We let the silence speak its piece.

I wasn’t always this still. I used to chase things. Work. People. The body I thought I had to have. Wasted a good chunk of years trying to tighten, shrink, fit where I was never meant to. Somewhere along the way, my belly grew, my pace slowed, and my peace finally sat down with me and said, ‘Took you long enough.’

Now I wear softness like it’s sacred. This belly? It holds more than meals. It carries grief, laughter, still mornings, and the quiet sighs that come when someone rests against it and finally lets go.

You don’t need to talk to sit with me. Just breathe. Just be. If your day’s been long, I’ll scoot over. If your hands need something real to hold, well—I’ve got plenty.

I’m not here to dazzle you. I’m here to be real. Bare. Heavy where it matters. Present when most folks are already halfway gone.

So you’re welcome to stay. And if you’re lucky, you’ll learn to sit in silence without needing to fill it.