Where I Hide

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.