Nostalgia

My house is situated on top of a hill, next to a small forest like area that divides my parents’ land and the land of our neighbor. When I was younger, this was my secret place. It is not as large as most forests, but it was naturally enchanting all the same, with a small river running through the center on which a friend and I would pretend to ice skate during the cold winters. It was carpet and tile replaced with flush green mosses and it was shouts replaced with the kind of quiet only insects understand. I adventured through the land for hours, climbing over logs and rocks, leaping as though I was the small ant making a cameo in the “Land Before Time” movies. I suffered abrasions and surface wounds from diving through the thickets I claimed were gates to new worlds. I found that this woodland was where my fantasies could blossom, kept away from the harsh realities by the kind seclusion. When I first found this home beneath the trees, I was afraid to venture in alone. Surely, monsters were coming to take advantage of my solitude, and I refused to enjoy my secret place unless I had a friend with me. Eventually I became the grass pushing through concrete to escape the boundaries set by the people around me, and I overcame my fear of isolation by force. Mid day jaunts through the forest were not uncommon, and the question of my whereabouts was no longer a concern, but an idle wonder that was short-lived. Eventually, though, the silence I had once found comforting became suffocating when consumed in large amounts. I slowly weaned down my daily dosage of calm until I was going through withdrawal. It has been years since I have returned to the little woodland that was once my beneficiary. The place once so rich and lush with life is now dull and overgrown, blanketed in snow and tainted by cold memories so easily remembered. The green that was once vibrant is now taunting to me, and the skies that were once so bright grow darker by the day. I now skirt the edges of the forest to avoid reminiscing. Such powerful wonders this forest is capable of, even I, the self-proclaimed speculator of imaginary worlds could never dream to replace it with something better.