The Place

Have you ever been hiking

and wished you could return to a place

you had found before, and rested at—

A Place of peace—a nice place;

Perhaps a gentle green with or without a trickling brook, cold to the touch

Or Perhaps a Place with butterflies and buzzing insect life, where you sat among them (at first disturbed by the bites but soon immersed, the wild accepting your stink.),

Or maybe a place with trees?

Only to find when you returned you could not recall the way

And if you could, would it be the same,

For now, since you’ve come so far and seen the rest

Once you’re further down the trail,

It might not hold that place within your heart

As when you saw it first—it is that new and jolting stillness you wish to find again.

When Kate walked in the wood she thought of that place she found, years ago, where she could close her eyes—for there was no one there to watch her—and she no longer had to be Kate. She no longer had to be anyone. She could just be.

Maybe she had passed it, Kate thought. Someone might have landscaped it years ago, leaving only a memory.

That was okay, she thought. It might be worth it, maybe not.

But she wished she could remember the way.

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