To The Grass
8 roses in her hand.
8 roses that cannot stand.
1 rose falls to the grass.
The single rose, withers as she walks past.
My trip began as I walked the cracked pavement of the sidewalk. I was walking to the safe haven of my childhood. I finally reached the lake that was on the far edge of town, and a little ways down from the graveyard. I walked along the bank that was higher than usual due to the rain. My converse repeatedly sunk into the mud. After a short trek, I finally reached the hidden path that led to the meadow. My feet made slight squishing noises as I made my way down the path. This path was not used often, so I had to step over roots and high patches of grass. Once I finally reached the clearing, I kicked my shoes off and ran through the high grass, past the weeping willow, and I just enjoyed listening to the chirping of crickets as I once did as a child.
I slipped out the eight remaining roses. I walked swiftly to the willow and sat with my legs crossed at the bottom of the trunk. I pulled a single rose from the bouquet and gently laid it down, hidden among the high and unkept grass. This place was so natural. It had it's own special rhythm. It felt disconnected from the world. It felt as though time had stopped itself. It felt wonderful. I felt free.
I didn't know how long I had sat there staring at the rose and my surroundings, but as reality caught up with my mind, I looked up and it was already about twilight. I slowly rose from my seat and looked around, memorizing each and every last detail of the one place I felt safe. Once it was all committed to memory, I finally left and returned to my house where no one has yet even tried to ask me where I have been. Which I am thankful for since I didn't have an entire answer for them.