Favorite Place

Mar 31, 2008

The summer breeze whips through the giant, green trees, bending their tips slightly, back and forth. The partially dead, yellow and green grass, ripples all around me. I push my hair back behind my ears, and lean back on one arm, feeling the almost "curly," soft moss from beneath my hand.
I sigh, watching the dark shadows from the surrounding trees dance on top the grass in front of me. I look past the grass, and past the small hill I sit on. There, sat an old, faded brown house I like to call my own. The windows are tinted with dust, and the metal roof seems almost too modern for the house itself.
The bright green summer grass not only surrounds the house, but the thriving garden out back. There are rows upon rows of different kinds of plants, separated by a row of dirt. Each plant is a different shade of green, with some large yellow buds in between the squash, and some white buds on the peas and potatoes. To the right and left of the garden are blooming flowers. On the right there are bright orange tiger lilies, deep purple cone flowers, white daisies, and a multicolored patch of zinnias. On the left, are a mix of different flowers in all different sizes and colors.
My eyes skip to the front of the house. There, is a fairly large stretch of route 6. It's a dusty grey, from years of cars' tires rumbling and rolling across it over and over again. An occasional car buzzes by, unaware of me, sitting peacefully alone, up on a hill in a field full of dead grass.
I lie back on my soft patch of moss, and slowly, shut my eyelids. I take a deep breath, breathing in the scents from my mothers’ herb garden. I can smell the sweet lemony fragrance of thyme, the oniony scent of chives, and the strong aroma of mint. From the forest of trees around me, I caught a fresh odor of pine.
From down below near my house, I noticed a soft buzzing. It got louder, and even though I had heard it so many times before, it took me a moment to realize that it was just my neighbor across the road, mowing his lawn. The chatters from the chipmunks and squirrels echoed back, telling the man that his noise was interrupting their day.
I smile, and my mind starts to wonder, drowning out the sounds, and absorbing the warmth of the sun above me. Nothing could replace this feeling, and there is no other place I would rather be. In this patch of half-dead grass and moss, I feel the most at home, the most at peace, and the most relaxed. This field up on a small hill, is my favorite place to be.