A poem about my minds happy place |
Where I Hide This place is mine alone, none but me can find it. I cower in it when I am frightened by the world. I storm off to it when the world makes me angry. I appear in it when the world causes me to dream. Anytime I need to leave this world all I must do is close my eyes. Then out of the darkness fades a solitary oak upon a perfect hill. Slowly the rest of my world builds around this oak tree. First the air, refreshing as any autumn breeze tingles my nostrils. It is laden with the oozy sweet smells of fresh earth, dew and the forest that has now appeared at my back. Then the sun shining with the perfect golden light of early morning turns the dew to pearls and the grass to emerald. I walk out across the emerald field toward the mighty oak at the center and as I walk I look up to see an iron blue and yellow sky. The sky is a collage, the stars not yet entirely covered by sunlight in the west and to the east a perfect blue sheet. It is at this moment that my ears are able to pick up the soaked symphony of waves playing their tune on rocky shores. The natural scents in the air are joined by the pleasant saltiness of the sea and sharp tingle of iron coming from the taconite shores. I look to my left and sure enough just over a few rolling hills the grey sea can be seen tossing beautiful white foam into the air. I follow those rolling hills to my right and off to the distance can just barely be seen the purples and whites of far off mountain peaks. Finally the sense of touch comes into play. The soft wet main of the grass beneath my bare feet massages my soul and washes away my past travels with its sweet dew. At last I come to the mighty oak at the center of this place and run my hands along its rocky exterior. I know every knot and notch time has put into its molasses brown bark. I sit down among its thick roots and admire the place I have constructed. My eyes look over every familiar blade of grass. Every leaf rock, stick precisely how I left it last. |