Secret Sanctuary

Hidden from those who look only with their eyes, the whereabouts of my cherished refuge remain known to very few people. Driving, running, walking – passerby fail to see the unlikely entrance to the hideaway beyond the old frayed rope. Twigs and bushes intertwine, creating a border and fence to keep away those who do not respect the simple beauty that accompanies untouched ground and nature. Leaves crunch and break under my feet as I slowly step over the restricting rope; walking a little ways to the right, I find what I’m searching for. A small unnoticeable path weaves in and out thorough the small, dense forest ahead. Carefully and quietly, I make my way on the uneven dirt and dust trail until I come to the main scene of my haven, a small running creek flows through the middle of the pathway, breaking it off until a bridge connects the two banks. A wooden, rotting bridge crosses the nourishing yet polluted water below: each plank bends and warps and bows under each placement of weight. I never worry about the wood giving way under me, if many people before me have seen and experienced this place before me, then this bridge will hold steady for one more. The creaks and whines of protest surround me with the feeling of security rather than the fear of harm; it reminds me that there is still at least one place in the city left untouched by the hands of man. The bridge is still how it was when it was built, and yet that and the path is the only evidence of humans passing through. Wooden knots cover the broken railings and base of the bridge, styled in an old fashion, the antique crossing remains sharp with splinters, ruts and dents from the passing of time are found everywhere in the wood. Water from below has stained the bottom with an eternal green, mossy color. Plants and vegetation surround the beginning and end of the ensemble.
Sounds of crickets and grasshoppers fill the eardrums of those quiet enough to accept the peacefulness of the grove. If one is silent enough, sounds of driving and honking automobiles remain absent, loud talking and screaming cannot be heard, and the barking and whining of dogs is unheard of. My hidden haven – provides the picture of serenity and harmony, unstained and incorrupt, delicate and divine – may bring the visitor to truth with themself. The taste of fresh and clean and uncontaminated air fills the lungs of those lucky enough to experience this place. Twisted and tangled branches braid with each other creating an impenetrable web of natural protection. The trees protect the unnoticed species below them and within them from the foot of humans and larger predators. Looking up upon the largest tree within the sanctuary, if one was to move two layers of moss slightly to the right, they would see the letters E + S engraved eternally into the trunk of the giant umbrella of shade. Six years ago my best friend and I stumbled upon this place of serenity and made it our secret refuge where not even out parents knew about. Although we are no longer friends, the past of our friendship lingers, spiraling around the largest tree we could find when we were nine. Visiting all these years later brings memories of running, exploring, and discovering every crook and under every rock the place had. I feel sadness, but no regret. I mourn, but with no death. I smile, but with remembrance. The innocence of my childhood and the sweet bliss of ignorance slowly fade away with time, but whenever I return to this sacred hideout, that bliss is renewed.

Long reeds and weeds sprout and grow tall surrounding the trees and ancient bridge. Few become pulled from gusts of wind and drift away in the wind, spreading their seeds, gradually spreading the beauty of the secret heaven. The feel of rough bark and smooth lichen pleasure my fingertips and sweeten the smells flowing in my nose. Sweet blades of grass sway with the music of the wind and an infinite number of flowers sprout and proudly display their beauty for the world to see. Their confidence and purity in their color boost one’s confidence in the truth surrounding them. The stems of the flowers sink in the earth with stability, rooted to their place in this world. I only wish the real world was a pure and honest as this sanctuary; however, I only find myself in my own world within this mini forest, and once I step outside of its borders, the horror and ugly of the world engulf me once again.
-Emily W