A constant

My fantasy is not uncommon I suppose. A castle or a cottage deep in a forest, where I can't be found.

The weather is always right. Sometimes the heavy rumble of thunder shakes the ground, sometimes it snows and sometimes it is golden. When the thunder arrives I keep inside, hearing the howl of the wind outside, the crash of rain on the ground and, occasionally, seeing the blinding lightning strike in the distance.

It is safe there.

I am safe.

The world shifts and changes; there is no floorplan, no room that stays the same. The cast of characters changes and I continue to walk the halls or the cobbled paths. Sometimes a lake rests at the bottom of a hill, sometimes an ocean. It is always there, though, a constant through it all.

I sit in a class, a meeting, a waiting room, uncomfortable. The presence of people around me presses down and suddenly I'm not there, not really. Disassociating, travelling, running. I'm deep in the forest and the earth below me is cool and damp and present, the smell of ozone in the air and green light filtering gently through the leaves. There is a castle, a cottage, a cabin, calling me to approach- to come home.