Centers

There's a place inside myself where I go when I want to be safe. It used to be a lake, perfectly frozen with no time passing. The deer on the opposite shore always posed exactly the same, no ripples on the water, the trees blown by a wind that could no longer be felt. Then it'd start to rain, the first drop falling slowly to the lake near where I sat and creating a series of concentric rings. The deer would stare for a minute, then run away, and I'd be sitting on a wet hillside overlooking a lake during the storm. Eventually, the rain would stop, birds would come out, and the wind would die down. Very soothing, but also very sad.

That died more than six months ago. I can still go back, but the image is becoming more grayscale, not that it had much color to begin with. Slate gray lake, graybrown bare trees, brown deer, very light green grass, gray dead leaves.

The new place is much more alive. Less soothing, but more beautiful. I don't want to describe it in much detail while it's still my quiet place. It's a redwood forest. That much I feel okay saying. It's a wonderful place to have.

I have no idea why I wrote all this down, but it seems to be important so I'll leave it alone.