Past the little pond at the base of the hill where the
mallards swim, the horses trot to the fence anticipating a
grass'y treat, but not this time, not these times when I've only
one thing, one place in mind. Through the gates that remain open nearly all the time, to the start of the most gorgeous of
tree-shrowded paths, its beauty is no secret.. but the place that I am going seems to hold so much for me
alone. I stroll down the path and as per usual there are insects flying about my face, a bit of an annoyance. They're just the tiniest of inconveniences, and mean very little when put in retrospect. I often stumble once or twice over the
roots of trees that have escaped their earthy confines to protrude just
above the ground, reminding me that nearly anywhere my foot lands will be another place for the adventurous roots of that which keeps me sane. I've been to this place before, with a number of other little humans.. but we simply walk past and they assume the
smile on my face relates to our conversation, not the
passing thought that if I were alone I'd stop just then and spend at least a few moments in my
secret little place. They don't even ponder the way the grass grows up on either side of the path at this point, the way that it is completely
devoid of insects perpetually, though if you lay below the tips of the
slender green blades you can watch the little bugs flying overhead, seemingly oblivious to just this one little place,
my secret place. I can watch the skyline, admire the sunset, lay on my back and pray that no human life interrupts my what always seems to be
brief time here.. it's as if I must take it in small doses as to not disturb the strange way it seems
off balance with the rest of the world around it, but in the most
intriguing of ways.
Before I knew this place, before I knew the tree-shrowded path that goes as far as to grace my
dreamscape at night, there was the ditch, a particular point, just down the road from where I lived. I went there many times after the
tornado hit and everyone seemed almost dazed, especially my friends who lost their farm, the
universe seemed a little bit.. off. I'd venture to the bottom of the ditch.. almost six or seven feet nearly straight down to the place I'd sit and watch the stream flow through the
culvert trickling over and around
leaves,
twigs,
silt. This place is far from any city, and it's arguably no different than any other ditch in the countryside, but to me it was the only thing that seemed
unscathed by the violent storm that tore so many people's lives apart. Incidentally, the entire section of trees, bush, on the side of the road opposite my little secret place.. was flattened,
completely demolished. I liked to sit there during the cool spring evenings and listen to cars passing by, knowing they couldn't see me where I was but I could hear them. That was part of its charm.. so close to
human life but undiscovered, I'd sit there for hours and the world would be oblivious..
There is a large rock, by large I mean nearly the size of a small vehicle, amongst the trees both
fallen and
flourishing in the forest area behind the house my father built, we lived in it for close to five years. I'd go for walks into the bush as we referred to it, because it was miles and miles of trees, streams,
ferns, and little animals. That's not to say there weren't many other things hiding in those trees, behind logs, but that was part of the whole experience, discovering new little things
others might have missed or at the very least, viewed differently than I would. I'd make my way to the massive rock, though there were many others there that always puzzled me, I'd wonder how on earth something so large ended up there, it was always this one rock that I would search for. Moss grew from many of the little
rocky crevices, and little mushrooms sprouted up haphazardly. I could see quite far as long as my eyes found their way through the trees, and I always felt quite
content to be up that high above everything, though it was a task to climb it in the first place. It wasn't entirely impossible to get
lost in the trees, but I never seemed to.. I'd always find my way back eventually, or at least end up wandering out onto a side road somewhere. There are many
secret places among the trees of my
childhood, I only wish that I could go back now because I'm sure I'd appreciate them a thousand times more at this stage in my life.
I've one last secret place.. somewhere I go every so often when this world seems just a bit much for me. It's down another path not unlike the tree-shrowded one I
traverse near daily, but this one is almost
magickal. It leads to an opening with sunlight pouring in overhead and through the trees surrounding it.. and sometimes there is a little human perched atop the enormous
tree stump that I've grown so fond of.. it doesn't bother me, because they only happen to be there if I request it
subconciously. This secret place is inside of me, I suppose it could be referred to as an
inner sanctuary.. not many people know of it, I've told but
one person before this.. perhaps I'll see some of
you there at one time or another.
My little secret places, I hadn't even thought of these in so long.. sweet sweet
memories both past and present,
pukesick you
dreamy little human, always spouting the most
brilliant of content which causes me to probe the deepest recesses of my feeble little mind. I could float through the
universe happily for the rest of my days if I knew that I had even a portion of your ability to think such
intensely beautiful thoughts.