My Place
My Special Place
I have a place that I go to more than once a day. It is like a safe haven, a place of peace. I have always had this place and I am the only one who knows where it is. Whenever I visit, it is night, for that is the time when I feel the safest. The moon is visible, guarding the sky and earth, like a warrior of silver.
In this safe haven of mine, it is always spring or fall. It is never to hot, like it is in summer, and it’s never cold, like in winter. The air is forever clean and tastes as sweet as ten pounds of sugar in a five pound sack. There is a pond surrounded by a forest. The pond is full of creatures that keep me company when I’m lonely. The water is clear, warm to the touch, and always slightly steaming; adding to the mist that accumulates above it. The constant mist seems to ebb and flow out over the pond, like the smoke off still hot embers of a fire. The mist is light and mysterious, but always welcoming. The heat from the pond is fed by the hot spring running close by, under the ground. There is a lonely sycamore tree alongside the pond. Its branches reach out over the pond as if it was trying to reach for the sky and the water at the same time, but changed its mind several times in the process. This creates many perfect seats for reading drawing, and reclining. One dip in the branch goes so low to the water that I can lay on it and talk to the creatures in the pond. Every once in a while there is a soft breeze that shakes the branches slowly, lulling me to sleep. There are birds always twittering in the dense forest surrounding the pond; they sing songs of wanting, longing, and loss. Their songs intertwine, as if the birds are trying to write the melody to my songs. When my thoughts turn dark and sad, my place becomes as if it is dark and sad also. I cannot count the number of times that I have sat on the bank of the pond and cried into the water. On these occasions, the mist seems to turn melancholy, as if it was an old friend
I have a place that I go to more than once a day. It is like a safe haven, a place of peace. I have always had this place and I am the only one who knows where it is. Whenever I visit, it is night, for that is the time when I feel the safest. The moon is visible, guarding the sky and earth, like a warrior of silver.
In this safe haven of mine, it is always spring or fall. It is never to hot, like it is in summer, and it’s never cold, like in winter. The air is forever clean and tastes as sweet as ten pounds of sugar in a five pound sack. There is a pond surrounded by a forest. The pond is full of creatures that keep me company when I’m lonely. The water is clear, warm to the touch, and always slightly steaming; adding to the mist that accumulates above it. The constant mist seems to ebb and flow out over the pond, like the smoke off still hot embers of a fire. The mist is light and mysterious, but always welcoming. The heat from the pond is fed by the hot spring running close by, under the ground. There is a lonely sycamore tree alongside the pond. Its branches reach out over the pond as if it was trying to reach for the sky and the water at the same time, but changed its mind several times in the process. This creates many perfect seats for reading drawing, and reclining. One dip in the branch goes so low to the water that I can lay on it and talk to the creatures in the pond. Every once in a while there is a soft breeze that shakes the branches slowly, lulling me to sleep. There are birds always twittering in the dense forest surrounding the pond; they sing songs of wanting, longing, and loss. Their songs intertwine, as if the birds are trying to write the melody to my songs. When my thoughts turn dark and sad, my place becomes as if it is dark and sad also. I cannot count the number of times that I have sat on the bank of the pond and cried into the water. On these occasions, the mist seems to turn melancholy, as if it was an old friend