whenever i feel the need to write, i go to the one place where i can be safe. where all my secrets are hidden under the roots, and my burdens are held steady by two pieces of rope wrapped around a branch, and a flat piece of driftwood. a place where no-one can touch me. it happens to be a real place, yet as time is always limited i only visit there once a year. as the imagination has no limits, i can go there whenever i choose to. all i need is my tree, my swing and my notebook. oh, and a pen.
Tuesday 9 November 2010
i had an impulse to post this.
it made me stop and think about that brief
moment in time each day
my favourite part.
our minds stop talking to us
and we just
see, feel, believe.
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