Special Place Writing

Mid January Dreams

It is mid January, 1998 and the colorless weather makes me feel nostalgic. Here,a t my special place, I feel protected from the very cold weather by the evergreen soldiers, the pine trees, yet I can still feel the cold January wind that is somehow able to penetrate through their thick branches. The wind cuts like a knife through my hat and freezes my ears whenever it is blowing faster. But, if it were not for the wind, the weather would have been more pleasant out here in this mystic forest, near the ocean. Also, there is no snow, therefore it is quite dry. The sky, however, is still gray and dull. As I sit here, on this cold green bench I tend to think of summer and , oh, how much I would give for it to arrive faster.

Nature went to sleep many months ago but this grayinsh, empty sky makes me feel that nature has died. On my way here at this bench it was just me, a cargo ship coming in the harbour, and the waves of the ocean that gave some sighs of life. No one else walked on the path I walked, not even a swuirrel. It was so quiet and so frightening. I did, however, hear someone, the enemy -- the mischievious wind -- making its way through the tree branches and above the grayish path. I felt that wind and it was harsh, bitter, and cruel to me.

Many people think I am wild. Perhaps if you knew me well, you would think that too. You see, when I reached my special place I sat on the green bench and I let the cold wind reach my skin.  It was very cold, and sharp like a knife. I opened my arms like an eagle's wings and I closed my eyes. I let the wind carry me away.

Right now my body is paralyzed but my soul is inside the body of an eagle. I am flying and it is a great feeling. I feel so light. I am now over the great Western Prairies and I can see the sun burning in the horizon. From up here, the Rocky Mountains seem so small. It is summer. I change direction; the wind is now pushing me eastwards. It is a strong, yet friendly wind taht makes me able to fly so high in the blue sky, close to the sun. I am now over the Atlantic Ocean, just above where the great Titanic is resting underneath the sea after it drowned on April 15, 1912. The sea is blue, velvety blue, and it looks so smooth and so calm. And then, here comes Africa. I can see the small villages on the burnt land, and many children playing in the sun.

The wind just gave me a big push. I look down and now I can see Cairo. I have reached Egypt. I feel so big, so powerful. Ahead of me, the sand dunes open like a large, golden carpet that makes me feel like a princess in an endless palace. There are so many beautiful things birds can see from above that we, humans, cannot, not even when flying in airplanes.

Oh no, the wind stopped blowing. It is no longer pushing me and I will soon crash to the ground! I am about to hit the ground; the speed is so high that I am not able to see where I will hit. Everything is black...help! Suddenly, I am waking up. I realized I imagined I could fly. Oh, it was such a beautiful dream. The wind stopped blowing and that is why I probably felt like crushing to the ground. It is too bad that this world to which I must return is so gray and silent. My flight has now become nothing more than a memory. How much I wish I could fly.

Anyway, I must be home soon. Walking away from my special place, the green bench, I look ahead. There is nothing new to see, just a large path that is surrounded by evergreens, beaches, and other paths converging witht the one I walk on. There is no snow for kids to come and play here with. I wish someone could at least freeze this path; I think it would be a great idea to make this path a skating rink. People would come, join hands, and dance in freedom and happiness while listening to the blissful rhythms. This snowless day would be so much more wonderful if that would take place.

Good bye, my mysterious forest. See youin the spring. Do, however, bring back the wind and do ask it to help me fly away to the beautiful worlds once more.

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