My Favorite Place

There are many places I love to be. Lately I've been cruising around in my bug (only stalling a few times!) and I enjoy the freedom. Today I drove back to Profile after my Photo class at LHS ended, rolled down both my windows, and turned up my stereo. The sun was freely shining in the Groovy Bug, as there was no glass to restrict it's rays. As the wind swished by, airing out the bug's contents and wishing through my hair, I thought how sad it was that I had to return to school!

Now I am in my Memoirs/Nature Writing class, and why do you suppose I'm writing this entry? =) It's been so long since I've posted, and I feel like a part of me was missing because of it. Despite spring break being the week after next, school decided to assign me several essays, a project, multiple quizzes/tests, and so much to do! My gosh.

But I digress. When I first pondered what my favorite place would be, I did recollect my 11am voyage from Littleton back to Profile in the bug, but I don't think that's my favorite place. I love that little car to no end, but it's a little home on wheels that brings me to my destination and future endeavors. No, I had a different favorite place in mind.

It is a little ways beyond my backyard, and at the moment it's blanketed in patches by whitish brown slosh. My favorite time to be in this favorite place is obviously the summer. When I want some quiet time, or a chance to walk the neighbor's dog I will venture out barefoot and follow the wet, squishy path to The Field. Sometimes I'll hear birds chirping, or the whistling of the wind through the tall grass, but mostly I focus on the deep sunshine, penetrating my skin, providing me with a healthy dose of Vitamin D.

I like to run, skip, and just play! Forget about what the world expects of me and be me. All alone. I wish I were there now to sort my thoughts on everything. Life has too many expectations that it's difficult to be what one truly wishes to be. In The Field, there is no time. Not even when the majestic bell from the meeting house rings the hour, vibrating the surrounding landscape. It doesn't matter in The Field.

In The Field there is a path leading around the outskirts and even through the middle. What's not path is covered in tall grass and buttercups. One path that cuts through the yellow forest leads to a flat log bench where one can admire the surrounding hills that roll effortlessly across the horizon. I like to walk across the bench like a tight-rope walker, and test my inner yogi by trying balancing poses. The feel of the bark below my feet is soothing, and a dry relieve from the wet, sloshy path. It is fun to challenge myself into these odd maneuvers on the bench!

On days where I seek true peace and serenity, I'll follow the path to a cemetery at the side of The Field. Here I'll admire the stone headstones, a carving of what once was. Being around such a place is not eerie or melancholy, it is the key location for reflection and understanding of one's life. The taste of one's thoughts here are a blend of sweetness and remorse. Thinking about this place causes me to feel more numb than I already am.