Where is the place that I can go to relax in my dreams?

Where I can feel protected yet inspired.

A place that grounds my body and brings peace to my mind…

My sanctum is a breathing space, a respite from my real world but a lifeline to my soul.

It nourishes my reality and provides safety for my fantasies…

My whimsical retreat is rooted to the earth while being connected to the skies.

A structure formed of natural provisions.

Sheathed in satiny purple to serve as protection against elements and predator…

My haven was created with love and has one rudimentary purpose- to bestow a place for me to just be.

There is a central area with a hearth; a primal light source that gives energy and warmth…

There is a place that I can go to relax in my dreams.

I can feel protected, inspired and nurtured in body and mind.

A place made by me, for me.

I can go there anytime I wish to and just be…me!

My happy place. It's most definitely when I'm reading or writing on Wattpad. I just start writing and before I know it, I have a chapter done. That is until I experience writer's block, then I just read on Wattpad. Reading has alway been my way to seek solace. And needing a place that is peaceful and quiet, is rare when you have a rowdy baby brother and an stepfather who just seems to always irritate you. It's then that I can read and relax knowing that I've been sucked into the story and I'm oblivious to the outside world around me.

As I pour the amber liquid into my tiny glass, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. The day has been long. The questions asked were more than uncomfortable.

I shoot back the Peach flavored whiskey, then pour another shot. The upcoming weeks activities clamor in my mind. I pop that shot back without a thought and refill the glass.

As the warming liquid begins to course through my body, the world around my starts to quiet. My mind becomes more peaceful.

I go to the fridge to grab a beer, crack it open and take several swallows. Mmmmm. Refreshing.

I throw back one more shot then grab my beer and head to the porch. It is dark, quiet, and peaceful. I can no longer feel, therefore I am happy.

I close my eyes once again, take a deep breath and smile.

The cool breeze rippling through my soft brown hair. Inhale. Ahh. The smell of grass and dirt fill my nose. There is no better smell in the world. I look down to see soft tan dirt littering the entire field, until it meets grass. I left my gaze to outline the entire field. Who knew dirt and grass was such a lovely combination? Who knew it could offer a place to relieve stress, to feel victory as well as loss? I step out onto the field, feeling the dirt clump underneath my metal spikes, I take off at a decent speed. Taking in the view I have. Finished running. Stop. Take a deep breath. Exhale. Don't you feel the calm? I know I do. I close my eyes, and imagine a game being played in front of me. To see nine girls working their ass off on defense. The offensive player ready to take advantage of any minuscule mistake. This, this right here is why the dirt and the grass is my sanctuary.

Quietude is my peace

My rest, away from fellow humans

It is in the midst of a blowing hard, moving rain.

Driving against a window pane,

In the night while all sleep

Howling

Woooing, splattering, tapping hard on a roof

Or tent,

Wind and rain

Wailing forlorn and lonely

Deep into the strings of my soul

The kind of thing that makes me

Hurt and cry, but brings me fullness

And peaceful quiet

Kind of like

You get in an old west ghost town

Dust and tumbleweeds fly

Across an empty street

No one else around, but shadows

Quietude and peace is no one to talk to

An empty house in the country

Only a June bug and it’s high pitched

Frequency shrill piercing

The air yet still, so still, so quiet,

Ringing in my ear

Quietude and peace is me and a mild wind,

In the west, my home,

My rural country

A breeze drifting from a far away arroyo

Dried creek beds filled with stones

The crackling sound of a jumping grasshopper

Yellow camouflaged on silty soil

Me sitting under a cottonwood

Following the scent of the wind to those

Smooth foothills, purple and brown

Not far away

Quietude is my peace

No one else around,

The smell of sage

Looking up that cottonwood’s leaves

Just me and

Leaves stirring, stems turning slow

Sparkles of silver,

Then turning fast,

The wind blowing from far away

Speaking softly, impressions to me while

Twisting leaves wildly, reflecting grey,

Giving them rustling voices

Peaceful sounds, like wind chimes

Onionskin paper

I sit at peace and in quiet

With high noon’s dancing light,

Shadow and light mottled moving all

Around the ground at my feet

The pungent smell of bark and musty soil

Lonely coooo, cooooing of a beige, grey dove

Undisturbed, high in the branches

Just me and a small

Beetle trudging in the dirt below

At my feet,

In the shadow of the cottonwood tree

Peace and quiet is trekking on a trail, at 12,000 feet or more

In the high sierra,

Hot summer day, sharp stones underfoot

Brittle, sharp sounds like dense shards of clay

Rising from my soles

Poetic sounds

Creaking backpack, slow rhythm of motions

In walking for miles

Sand’s grit, . . . soft sizzling sound,

Smell of body sweat, bright blue sky overhead

Breathing in, . . . out, in, . . . out

Heart thumping in my veins

In the quiet, I hear, “Why do you walk, why do you climb?”

In peacefulness of the wild places of the Sierra Nevada

I hear a voice, “You walk and climb because it’s there.”

Then, I contemplate, and find it hard at first to answer

“No, that would be in vain,

I go to these places to escape myself

To hear sounds I can’t hear at work

Or when surrounded by people,

Even those I love

To be alone and just let

Be

Alone and just let go

That place where no one wants

Anything of me, or me of them

My paradise is not what you think. It's not a place full of sunlight. It's not a place with blue skies and fluffy white clouds. It's not a place where green grass blows in the gentle wind, or where flowers bloom in brilliant colors. My paradise is the ledge, just outside my bedroom window. At night I climb out and stare at the moon, not caring that I could fall, for I know I won't. This is where I write my best poems, where I go when I'm supposed to be sleeping. This is the place where I feel safe, with the wind blowing back my hair, and the cool night air biting at my skin. This is the place that I call paradise.