My Happy Place

                   
         
          I start down the trail with the flashlight illuminating the ground in front of me. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. Walking down the path each step seems to quiet my mind and I am able to let more of the tranquility of my surroundings seep into me. My shoes make a soft and steady thud upon the ground. Every few steps the thud is accompanied by a snap or a crunch as my foot finds a twig or pinecone underneath it. The steady sound of my pace is occasionally interrupted by a quiet swish. My feet graze over the tops of small patches of what passes as grass blemishing the trail beneath me.
          What had begun as a dull roar in my ears is beginning to turn into a symphony. The cicadas and crickets are playing their music for me. The saccharine music of the cicadas is like a cello to my ears and the crickets the accompanying violins. Somewhere in the distance not privy to my eyes is a lone owl, hooting in a rhythm offbeat to the rest of the composition. I can hear frogs croaking in a chorus and the breeze blowing over the trees rustling them like maracas.
          After some moments of peaceful walking as my breathing and heartbeat become slower, I find myself coming upon an opening in the trees. There is large pieces of rusty steel littering the ground. I can see markers in the dark that by the light of day would have told me what each of the remnants of this old Army fort was. Here tonight I could care little for those explanations. In the middle of the opening I find mounds of what looked like earth that had been covered over with grass. Running my beam of my red Maglite over them I notice that each mound has a door in the side of it. I smile a little with the recognition that I had finally come to the fort and I felt as if I were in the middle of the Shire.
          I slowly walk through the small fort and it has a sobering effect as I remember the history of the area. To fathom the sharp contrast between the beauty of the area now and violence done here in years long past has a hushing authority. Where turmoil once stood beauty can grow and flourish. I can practically see General Sherman's face as he watched the Rebel soldiers fall to the Union. This place was also witness to the war between the Cherokees and the Creeks that laid claim to this land over three-hundred years before even the civil war. There is a distinct essence that demands respect, many warriors stood where I stand now. It has become a place of recognition. I proceed slowly for a second time towards the far side of the fort. Passing near mounds in the dark, I can only imagine they once held ammunition, cots and various wartime things inside.
          I walk towards the fencing that had once protected this area from outsiders. The wooden planks come out of the ground like long sword points rather than like a fence. Carefully I half step, half climb over to the other side so I could continue on back into the tree line. No longer having the luxury of a well-made trail, instead before me is a quickly receding path that beckons me along. I am practically on top of the exact spot that I am pursuing. I reach out in an attempt to block the pines and the palms that were trying to grab at me. Against my shoulders and cheek I feel the crawling vines and Spanish moss brush against me.
          Soon enough the thick vegetation begins to thin out and the way becomes easier to pass. A minute more of slightly hurried walking, more out of excitement than of the fear of not knowing what may be accompanying me in there, and I stop short. I stand for a moment watching the trees that have sprawled out in front of me come to an end. As I stopped there to gaze my breath catches in my throat at the sheer amazement of the view. It is physically difficult to advert my gaze from just gawking over the land in order to put my blanket out and relax.
          Somehow I manage to tear my eyes away from the serenity I saw long enough to carefully cover the ground with the mantis green blanket nestled in my embrace. Having found my landing place, I sit down and started to take my telescope from its home. Carefully I set up the tripod and affixed the attachments I have brought with me and got down to the business I had set out here to do.
          It is hard not to stop and truly appreciate this landscape. Where the trees have abruptly stopped, there is a short sandy clearing. After fifteen feet the sand beneath me springs into the expanse of salt marsh. The tall honey-colored grasses sways in what are almost waves and seemed to go on almost forever. The long blades of grass dance at the mercy of the wind that blows over them.
          Towards the north is the wide Ogeechee River that twists and turns as I watched it flow out to open sea. The water seems more like a maze than a river. The river is split apart then is met with streams and are obstructed by islands. Covering the isles are tall grasses the color of honey, and cattails. Far in the distance against the horizon a single giant live oak seems to grow out of nowhere standing testament to the age of this land. Beyond that I know lays the mighty Atlantic.
          The symphony in my ears has grown louder and there were new rhythms and melodies gracing my thoughts along with the rest of the music. I can hear the sounds of the river, the whooshing along of the water and the way it laps at the banks. I can hear the waves as the unbridled rapids try to engulf a fallen tree. The water runs over and around the broken beast. The force of the river pounds against the collapsed brute and tries to pull it under, but the water has no purchase. The frogs seem to have multiplied in just a matter of minutes now their calls are a majority of the sound I can hear. The ballad in tenor has become more of a bellowing than a chorus. The gentle breeze tickles the grasses and they rustle in return. The symphony is ongoing and seems to be ever changing and somehow soothing in its repetitiveness at the same time.
          The sliver that is the waning crescent moon shows just enough to brighten my surroundings so I can better see the beauty I am swathed in. The moon reflects off the dark waters a bit and seems to pirouette from wave to wave. I look up at the starry expanse and see Venus; I point my telescope and search her out in the glittery darkness that is the sky. Having found the bright ball of light that I knew is her, I focus the telescope and the blackness surrounding her begins to shimmer with the stars I know are there but can't pinpoint. After a prolonged moment of pure appreciation I slowly and carefully move the scope toward Jupiter. Having located the great red sphere and its many colored bands I search carefully for its moons. Tiring of the structure I have now fallen into I begin to just look at nothing in particular, eventually resting upon Pleiades and the bluish white glow of its cluster.
          At long last having wearied of the telescope I fall back onto the comfort of my blanket. I can feel the softness that was the faux fur under my fingers and against my cheek. My head rests on the ground nestled into the blanket-covered sand and it feels almost pillow like. I look up and find Vega gleaming bright and white with just a hint of blue beaming down at me. Towards the head of the great bull, Taurus, I find the star Aldebaran beckoning me to watch. I continue to gaze and Cassiopeia greets me along with the twinkling stars of Aquarius. When I find Polaris I smile at Little Bear and noticed that sky has begun to lighten in the east.
          Lying under the sky, I watch as it prepares to change and brighten. I find myself noticing more detail in the area around me.
          Along the banks of the river cattails seem to be growing out of the water as the tides wash against the sand along the edges. The banks are smooth and somewhere between a cream and tan color.
          The sounds of high tide have begun. The river has become fuller since I got here and the intermittent sounds of dolphins surfacing begin to play against my ears. Any fish in the river that were here earlier would have now fled upstream out of danger, I can begin to pick out the mystic creatures as they brake the surface of the water not quite one at a time. The pod seems to have taken up residence here for this high tide and I am grateful.
          What was already a magical place has turned into heaven. I feel lost in this spot as if somehow I have fallen into another world where only these creatures belonged and truly it is not meant for my eyes. I let Mother Nature wrap herself around me like a cape and I feel like nothing can reach me here.
          As I look out towards the horizon a line of dark pink seems to have enveloped the lower eastern sky. I watch as a red-hot ball begin to peak over the horizon, and as it emerges it fades ever so slightly into a fiery orange. The sky directly around the sun flows into a radiant pink. What had begun with ferocity was dulling ever so slightly into the colors of the rainbow. I can pick out a florescent orange, and as it fades into the lightest of blues, it manages in the process a strange yellow, almost a green hue, and the most delicate of lavenders. The sky appears to expand from that point into the very palest of blues. In the pink of the sky I catch sight of a cloud seizing the rays of the sun, the cloud seeming to burn, and then change, and then burn again.
          As I look up to where the noon sun would be in the sky there is a band of blue gray that seems to be dividing day from night. I can pick out cornflower, cerulean, and towards the farthest west midnight blue. The hallows of space are unveiled before my eyes and I glimpse the simple flecks of shimmering silver that are pitted against the darkness called the night. I watch as each star holds out and eventually lets the brightness of dawn quench its flames.
          Each lone star holds in its clutches a secret wish from days long past and memories close at heart. Afraid to miss a single second I keep my eyes open until finally I am forced to blink. In the briefest flash I can see stars falling and as they reach their destinations, they bloom in fulfillment of a soul's cry for help.
          As the new light of day begins to wake the earth, I feel a sweet call of hope begin to rise through the air. The aspiration of the call seems to fill everything the light touches with pristine beauty. Life springs from everything around me. In a new way, I see the tiny branches that had been cast over the ground, broken as they were. Tiny speckles of dew make themselves known as crystals as they trap the sun and rest gently upon individual blades of grass. Diminutive dewdrops lazily slide down amethyst petals of daisy-like flowers that I notice near the trunk of an ancient oak. Once shaded, the light has come upon my favorite hummingbird trees. The fragrant shrub has soft pink-trumpeted flowers and an aroma that calls hummingbirds and butterflies near to it.
          From somewhere across the river I hear a mourning dove coo, the sound is almost that of a flute, I see the gentle bird take off into the sky and as it soars against the rainbow heavens it flirts bashfully with the fairytale sun. Behind me I can hear two mocking birds twittering back and forth as if in a spirited debate. A brightly colored painted bunting with a blue head, red chest, and yellow and green wings begins its' song at the same time as the red-crested woodpecker starts to whinny and drum, whinny and drum. The harmony the two birds carry begins to sew hope and love into the fabric of the morning. Their duet is haunting; somehow it seems to be full of wisdom, almost like an echo of the ancient dragons that roam the corners of time. The song touches each creature, small and large, as the simple yet enduring song drifts on.
          I close my eyes and remember the dozens of houses further up the river in those two neat little rows as well as my own house, which seems so far now from this place. I remembered their uniqueness and the many people who must be sleeping inside. In that world dreams are still thick in the air, swirling about and intertwining with each person's hopes and fears, needs and loves. In my mind's eye I can see children tucked away safely in their beds with the faces of angels and the sweet serenity of sleeping babes. In those houses lay lovers nestled together, blanketed by an epic love that lives in their hearts and plays out in their dreams. These lovers are safe, for no other reason than that they lay together, locked in one another's embrace. Back in my world the song of those two dainty birds seems to be reaching its summit, and with it I find promise for the day has been renewed. I can feel the dream world begin to relinquish its hold over its many captives. The land of Nod begins to fade away. As their eyes fluttered open, their dreams and realities find themselves entangled together. Hopes are allowed to soar as high as the sky, without anything to restrain them.
          The sweet duet has begun its end and dreams drift further away. Each person is left with a new hope for the start of a fresh day. I am left lying there, in the middle of nowhere, on my soft green blanket, right in the middle of heaven and I am awed, because for a moment the sweetest peace had blanketed the earth.
          With each beat of my heart comes a little more revelation. As I lay there on that spot I let the epiphany sink in. In a single second a million feelings hit me: gut-wrenching honesty, the sheer powerlessness and humility that I feel. Having had my sanity restored and serenity oozing from my being I made a plea right then and there for honesty, hope, faith and courage, integrity, humility, and perseverance. I feel in that very moment I have been renewed.
          I am finally able to get up because it is just another beautiful morning and I know with every cell in my body that there will be another one tomorrow. No matter what comes in-between I will in fact always have the morning and with it a chance for peace that I can build upon.
          The momentary nirvana I am able to grasp is what I have been dreaming of at night, what I have been longing for during the hours of the day, what I pray for the future, and what I hope for the world. I turn to face the tree line, and with-it reality. Where I was before this exercise seems now like so long ago, and with the sun warming my back, in my mind's eye, I leave and it is okay because I am peace with myself.