When I was studying in New Zealand, there was a place I loved to visit. It’s a little clearing on a little hill. The path to the clearing is lined with tall pine trees on both sides. I loved to hear the crunch of dirt and fallen tree branches while walking. I loved to be able to pick up pine cones along my way. I loved to imagine that that was the path where my knight in shining armour would ride down and sweep me away into a life of eternal bliss.
I would visit the clearing very often. I liked to sit there and stare at the little town far below me. It’s a pretty place, and because there wasn’t anyone who really visited there, I adopted the clearing as my own safe haven. Some of my best pieces of poetry were written there.
It’s also a place I visit when I felt sad. A little way off the clearing lies a cemetery. Sometimes I’d take a stroll there when I was feeling down. There’s something comfortable in the quiet of the cemetery. It reminded me of the fragility of life. It also reminded me of the resilience of life.
Now, all I have are memories of that place.