My Little Valley by the Lake

         Smoky-blue hills topped with puffy, white clouds border with path I travel to get away from it all. Upon close inspection, the smoky-blue takes on other hues: the green of pines, the golden-red of maple leaves, and the purples and oranges of the many flowers blooming along the hillsides. Soon, the hills rise to tower over me, majestically soaring to the sky above. My valley is nestled between these towers of color.
         Here, the grassy carpet is littered with sweetly-scented flowers: heather, buttercups, violets, and lily-of-the-valley. At the far edge of my valley, a lake shimmers like a sea of diamonds. There is a brook meandering along the left side of the valley, flowing with some of the sweetest, coolest water to ever touch my lips. The air here is pure and clean; not a hint of pollution has ever touched my valley. The wind gently floats through, caressing everything it touches with a cool, gentle finger, soothing the mind and body.
         Sometimes, if you sit still long enough, the wildlife that was startled into hiding at your appearance will begin to come back out. There are a multitude of creatures that call my valley home: cardinals, hummingbirds, falcons, eagles, butterflies, deer, mustang, mountain lions, wolves, cats, dogs, almost any land animal you can imagine. There are even unicorns and pegasii there. They are unused to visitors, and come close out of curiosity. Many have become my friends over the years since I first ventured into that valley that I call my own.
         Few humans venture here, but those that do come always arrive when the others are gone. I go there more often than others, and like the animals, hide at their arrival. I prefer the solitude of my little valley, and am happy that they don’t linger there long. I was the first to arrive in my valley, and when I leave for the last time, it will become a distant memory. People will no longer travel there, and the animals will no longer have humans intrude on their privacy. That is, until the next small child with an active imagination dreams, as I did, of a place to go, to get away from it all.