In the shadows of an opening, at the base of a large bush, I crawl awkwardly out. The opening is a tunnel worn down from my many trips to this special place where I feel free. My knees, shins, and palms of my hands are dirtied from the earth that I have touched. I don’t really have a reason to care what I look like, so I smear my hands on the rear of my jeans. I take only three or four steps from the bush and am standing on a bridge over a small creek. I call this “my thinking spot.” Everyone needs one and I am sure almost everyone has one.
The bridge is arched gently, barely noticeable to my balance as I stand on it. Perched in its center, I whirl in a slow circle, observing the scenery on all sides of me. Favoring what lay ahead of me in the east, I lean onto the bridge’s railing facing where the sun comes up everyday. I hear the railing creak and feel it bend slightly with my arms, complaining in its own way that it was getting old. The chip’s in the bridge’s brown skin is another sign of its old age. They were almost like wrinkles that evolve on people’s skin after living a long, eventful life. I love that bridge like a best friend! It is always there when I need somewhere to go or someone to talk to. It has listened to me cry, scream, and just ramble about my feelings, but it has never once argued, disagreed, or got fed up. Those are the qualities every friend should have.
A stream lay underneath the bridge, which is as ordinary as any other, but yet so special to me. It welcomes me each visit to its beauty as it comes out of nowhere from a sharp corner only fifty feet in the distance. The water cuts through the muddy bedside, leaving equal shore on either side. Pulsing forward, the creek rushes toward me, then under me, and finally behind me. It is racing to meet with another creek, where the two will join and journey together to the ocean. The water in the stream is untouched, other than the ripples from its flow streaking the surface. The clearness of it shows off the few good-sized rocks that are scattered about here and there. They fill the silence with the trickle of water toppling over them. Miniature sticks are randomly pinned in the muddy creek bottom, and a massive root from a tree rollar-coasters in and out of the water. I imagine myself with my jeans rolled up to my knees, standing in the center of the stream, while my toes melt into the muck of brown slime. Just beneath me, not yet hidden under the bridge, there is a Coca-Cola can resting, not being able to follow the current because of a stubborn branch. It’s obvious that the can has been there for some time, because debree from the creek is sprinkled over it from the force of the water.
Trees of every shape tower over the creek. Each having branches that sprout from their trunks like cracks in a broken glass window. Some are already naked, prepared and awaiting the lifeless season called fall, that is just around the corner. The most immense tree stands as erect as a soldier where the creek curves around the corner. Shrubs and bushes that vary in appearance as much as night and day overpopulate the landscape. The colors of all the foliage are almost impossible! I don’t think I’ve ever known of green and brown having that many shades in existence. The way that they each fade and blend together perfect nature’s features to the greatest extent. I wonder what a proclivity Mother Nature must posses to create something so breathtaking.
The sun’s rays peek through the numerous leaves that are still left on some of the trees. The warmth permeates my skin and sends a chill up my spine. It’s later in the evening, so the yellow sphere in the sky isn’t far from saying goodbye to the world for another night. It always saddens me to bid farewell to it, but I know it will return again in the early morning. I look down at my arms and see shadows of leaves and thin branches dancing carefree in the wind.
I close my eyes and feel the cool breeze sweep through my hair. It makes me wish I could dance freely, just like the leaves. The air slightly blows through my surroundings and I hear all the leaves, bushes, and branch flap and flutter in the course the wind is flowing. I take a deep breath and swallow the sweet smell of nature. It is the scent that is only in free habitats, such as the wild. I’ve never found any smell as fresh and clean in a city. Keeping my windows to the world shut, I smile. I realize for one moment in my life I feel at peace with the world.
“God, I love this place.” I say out loud as I open my eyes. I know I should head home now. The sun had almost reached its bed, and the crickets were playing their songs that signal darkness is near. I take another deep breath while I slowly gaze over “my thinking spot.” Leaving it all behind me, I dive back into my hole and come out on the other side in my backyard. It’s hard to believe something that beautiful is just beyond some bushes.
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