The day I left...

...was cloudy. It was too cold or too hot or too rainy or too windy or something like that. Anyway, I left.

There are days in life when all I want to do is leave. To go somewhere where I've been a thousand times; but never really been there. It's a place where a west wind always blows, but just hard enough to make noise through the tall grass. The tall grass would line a dirt road that would be walking on. It would be just be me, the wind, and my thoughts.

In that place where I'm walking, I can see to my left, far, across a field. It's a light green field, with tall soft grass. The wind blows patters and waves over the grass and the rythm it creates makes me stare.

Straight ahead is a lake. It would be small - but not too small. And there's an old tree right out ahead with it's branches hanging in the cool water. There aren't any water bugs or mucky ducks in this pond. It's somehow a flowing lake, a lake with moving water... always cool, clean moving water. To my left the road curves and a hill slopes upward. An anciet fence only half standing watches me silently, it's broken cross beams sleep quietly on the ground. I think about how long the fence post has lay there, but just for a moment.

Nothing in this place is confusing. There's nothing that makes me nervous or wonder too hard about stupid thing... things like, What am I doing with my life? or Where will I be in 10 years? or Who am I going to marry?... or even things like What time is it? or Am I supposed to know that? In this place there is only an endless amount of time to think and be sure of things.. I don't have to wonder about anything. I can be sure of what I'm sure of, and not think about what I'm not. I can breath the fresh wind and exhale nothing but a clear-thought-out nothingness. The air coming out is just as fresh as when it came in. Mmm.

And when I want, it's sunset. And the sun will sit right over the moving lake, and the cool wind will tease me. I can look right at the sunset, and don't see spots. I can think about every detal of the land, the way the sun soaks into the hills, the way the sunshine dances on the water, and the way I sit in the warm evening sun.

And when I feel like it, it's night. But the night isn't solitude, it's comfort. And when I lay on the soft hill, a deep warm sense of security overwhelmes me and wraps me up into sleep - a sleep so deep that even my dreams have dreams.

And when I feel like it, it's sunrise. And if I feel like it the sunrise can last a minute or a day. If I lie in the sun for hours, I don't get too hot. I stay cool and warm and sunny all at the same time.

And I can shed a tear when I'm feeling emotional, or laugh out loud with a satisfyingly good memory. I can act like I'm the actor in a play, or the singer in a song. My voice is beautiful, rich and full. I can sing and sing and sing and never get tired. I can write songs and really appreciate my ability because I'm not singing for anyone but me.

After sitting down by the old tree for a while, I can slip into the water and swim in the clarity of cool, deep thought - I wouldn't have to come up for air ever, I could lay at the bottom staring through the clear flowing water to the sun up above... and still feel its warmth. And after I came back out of the water, I would be dry... (because I don't like to be wet unless I'm immersed in water.)

I don't think this place has a name, but it certainly does exist. I go there when I need to get away from here... from pure familiarity. If you haven't figured it out yet, this place is in my imagination... and unless there is some really creepy Willy Wonka-like process that will transform you into little bits, you have little hope of ever entering my imagination. Oh, and if you actually did enter my imagination, you would have a giant heart attack and my imagination friends would probably laugh at you and then turn into paramedics and try to resusitate you.

Someday I'll let the irrationally psyco side of my imagination write.. but it's hard to keep it under control so I don't let it out too often.