Something

My happy place is an old Victorian house. on the back of that house is a bench, and that bench faces the forest. When you sit on that bench and stare into those trees, you know that something is there. Something older than the stained glass windows of the house, something older than the books on the shelves or the wine in the cellar. Something so old that it breathes in time with the trees. The longer you sit and try to rationalize the presence, your mind starts to play tricks on you. You think to yourself, "Maybe its just the wind, or a bear." But when you really focus, you know that the something you know is there isn't describable with the words in our vocabulary. That something has always been there, and knows all pain and all happiness, and you know that you aren't alone. Sure, that thought alone is enough to unsettle most people, but that's what makes this place so happy for me. The fact that you something is watching you back, thinking the same things about you.