Old Neighborsby
trevytrevComment by K3Master: She sat there, with her pad of paper and a set of charcoal pencils by here side. She came out here often, to get away, to relax, to recharge. She especially came out here when her father was in one of his 'moods'. Oh, yes, she definitely came out here then.
This was one of those days. He was usually kind and gentle, her father, but sometimes he was a different man. Sometimes when the drink flowed a little quicker than usual, sometimes when she or her mother said just the wrong thing, sometimes when it was simply that an object was out of place in his personal world of order, he changed.
She had recognized that change early, this time, and had escaped out here, to this field. Her favorite place. She would sit and feel the wind and listen to the sounds and sketch whatever came to mind. Today, she had decided to turn this field into something more. On her pad, she would transform this field into a little hideaway for herself. Something more than just the flowing grasses in front of her. Something she could come to even on the rainy days, or in the months of snow-fall.
So she began, choosing a spot for a large and elder tree. She loved trees, and the shade they provided, and the enjoyment of climbing their inviting branches and hiding there, and pretending she was a nymph of the wood. Smiling at the thought, she glanced up from her work, and nearly dropped it on the ground.
There before her, leaves blowing in the breeze, was her tree. A gasp of shock escaped her, and she quickly looked to her drawing, then up again. There was no mistaking it. It was her tree. She had drawn it, and there it was. In an older person, perhaps, this would be cause for fear, would cause them to leave this place and never return. Not she. She was 16, still young enough to somehow simply accept this curious and magical turn of events, but old enough to then get a sly look on her face as she picked up another pencil. She had wanted to simply sketch an imaginary getaway, but now...
Now she sketched furiously, madly. Putting line to paper as fast as her fingers would allow her. When she was done, she looked up, and a giant grin lit her face from ear to ear. It had worked again. A little hut, quaint and simple, stood by her tree. As if in a dream, she slowly stood, and walked to that place. Her imaginary hideout made real.
Never again was she able to recreate that moment. Never again was she able to create in reality what she drew from imagination, but never again did she need to so badly. She had her getaway, and in years to come it would be her salvation and sanctuary for all of life's hardships.
Photographer found comment helpful.