There’s a place that everyone has, everyone knows of. There’s a place that everyone cherishes.
It’s different for everyone. Maybe it’s your bedroom, maybe it’s your local beach, a close encounter with someone in particular.
A place you can go where you feel the best, you feel content, happy, alone, forgiving, free. For me, it’s my lakehouse.
It’s this quiet getaway that I look forward to every year. Not so much the running around of the family, the happy shrill laughs that echo off the wall but rather the time right before sunset. There’s this inexplicable silence.
Like it’s just me and the trees. I like to sit in the hammock at this time, just rocking and listening to the creak of the metal chain, the birds that sing, the slight waves crashing against the rock. But it’s silent. It’s peace.
The inner workings of my mind seem to stop, even if for a brief few moments. But it’s like I can look at the world and see clearly for what seems like the first time. Like the daily nuisances that are constantly buzzing and beeping and screaming stops and it’s quiet.
I can breathe.
The wholesomeness of feeling again
The gentle breeze off the lake
Telling and whispering secrets
Of the many before me
The swaying of the hammock
Like inversions of emotions
Back and forth
Guiding me towards reckoning
The passage of time seems slow
The leaves seem to fall in waves
Drifting, floating, wavering
Still alone in the silence