Just in my mind
I believe we all have a beautiful place in our mind. I have one that made me happy a lot of times many years ago. But sometimes I think that I am the only person who likes this place, and I'm asking myself if this place is as beautiful as I think when I go back to visit it again. Perhaps I make it beautiful just in my mind.
This place is meaningful to me because it is a part of the village I love, a part of my childhood.
I grew up in one of the many houses admiring from my bedroom window the beauty of the nature, always exploring with my eyes the forest or the meadows, looking for a clean and quiet place. And I found one on a hill in the back of the village. It had seven old trees, wild flowers and a lot of bugs and ants during summer time.
I used to go there to sit down on the hill and watched the village and my trees. There was a very old tree… a maple tree… with a huge trunk. The others were smaller… three in the back, three on my left side and the old maple tree on my right. There were flowers… many kinds…white, yellow, purple and blue. It was nobody's place. Nobody owned that hill, but it was beautiful and peaceful, and I dreamed many times about a white house over there.
I used to go there to be alone or to dream with my eyes open admiring the blue sky or the clouds. I liked to go there to lie down on the grass, listen to the wind, kiss the flowers and watch the leaves moving. It was hard to go up the hill, but I wanted to see everyday my seven trees, to see how the color of the leaves changed and to feel the softness of the grass.
I used to go there with a reason or with no reason at all. I knew that I had to be there to forget who I was, to breathe and feed myself with hope. That was the only place I could go to dance, or sing, or cry. That place was part of me. The wind was part of my breath, the leaves were part of my song, the flowers were part of my purity and the trees were my friends that I used to hug.
I used to go there even in winter to play with clean snow. In my village, even after a fresh snow, we got a gray-black layer of soot over the ground.
During winter time my place was still beautiful. My trees had branches full of white, heavy snow. The flowers, the birds, the grass were gone, also the hill I used to sit on was hard to be found, but it was still peaceful, quiet and especially clean. The snow angels I made kept watch over this natural splendour.
This place is far, far-away in time and space. It means a lot to me because it is beautiful and natural, is a clean and quiet place in a world of noise and dirty air. This place is maybe beautiful just in my mind, but it is one of the few friends I had, back in my native village.
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