Daydream

When I daydream, I always wander to the same place.  The road is covered by trees and shrubs and vines are creeping up the trunks of all the old oaks. When I see the wooden fence line on the left, I’m almost there. A natural opening occurs in the trees and there is a dirt road on the left that leads to the cabin. The dirt is soft and moist from the rain.  I always roll the window down to listen to the drops of rain falling from the leaves onto the wet undergrowth.  The smell fills my lungs with moisture and makes my heart ring.

The cabin is almost a mile off the road and is over 100 years old.   It was built by a man and his wife and took over two years to complete.  The porch is slanted towards the east side and two boards are cracked on the second step leaving a hole big enough for the rabbits that reside under the porch to come and go as they like. There really isn’t any paint on the house anymore, just chips of white flake here and there.  To paint it would spoil the charm and character the house worked so hard to achieve.

The view is nice, (a small lake surrounded by sugar maples) but it’s the atmosphere of this nook that draws me in.  The sky is barely visible due to the height of the trees and the ground is covered with leaves of every color the autumn weather can create.  It’s not cold, but a sweater is always around my waist.  The air is heavy from the rain and the trickle of water running down the side gutter can be heard ever so slightly. I can smell the lake and its muddy bottom from the steps. 

It is in this daydream that peace wraps around me like an old fashioned shawl.   I feel embraced by warmth and serenity just by “being” in this place.  I always sit in the rocking chair on the porch for an hour or so before going inside to light the logs in the fireplace.  Solitude.  Quiet.  Nature.  All in their place in this place. My daydream.  My place.