My Perfect Hideout

Yet again I sat alone under the tree; comforted in the little nook I now called my own, as I looked into the rippled water. The late rain was dripping off of the sagging leaves, into the small pond underneath, creating the perfect circles which traveled over the water. I sat and watched the circles move and collide, on and on, always the same, always predictable. How could something so perfect and so stable come from something that is the exact opposite of it?

The old weeping willow had been there for so long, towering above all things young and new. One side of the tree reached lower than the other, as if off balance and unsure of itself. The many branches twisted and bent in all ways imaginable. Some branches were dead, others you could never tell. One minute it would look alive and healthy, but the next it would look like it could just fall off. The tree had carried too much of the worlds burdens on its shoulders. It had live through the pain and the trials. It had changed to agree with other peoples desires, as the humans cruelly changed it. Putting in things to make it grow one way or another, cutting its fabulous vines.

Sometimes I thought the tree had a mind of its own, and actually changed how it grew and looked, so that it could make some other soul happy. I was sure it had done that for me. The tree had grown in such a way that the trunk went just high enough that you could climb it, but it wouldn’t be too much of an effort. The branches all split in such a way you could perfectly sit in it. The branches grew around and the angel of the branches went in such a way that it spiraled upward, which made it possible to climb up and around. The very first branch reached out over the pool so you could climb on it and simply lay there and look in the water. The one last thing was that the tree grew on a hill. If you were on one side you could just see a tree, the other side you could see the tree keeping watch over the pool. It was almost as if it was hiding its beauty from the ugly outside world, making it so you had to look deeper to be able to find such beauty. Sometimes I was sure that this tree was meant for me, and always had been.

It was always the most peaceful after the rain. The water was dripping from the many leaves, and everything seemed to hang just a little lower, as if to protect what was inside. The inside was fairly dry and most of the excess rain now dripping off fell on the outside. I always came here to think, to read, to escape from the hideous world out there. This was my castle, my home.

This place was my own, my hide out. It was a fun place to be and seemed to have a mood of its own. It usually seemed to me that it was happy. Happy with itself, with the= task it was doing, happy with life. Then again it is only a tree; it can probably hide any feelings it might have very well behind that façade. It was always there to help; always there to lend whatever it has to others. It seemed to me that it was unafraid of the one thing that should be feared, the one thing that no one should ever wish for, and some day I wish I could be like that.