Sanctuary
The neighbours field was always an escape a lot of the time for me and my family members when we were young. It was on top of a hill that overlooked the surrounding countryside, trees of every kind accumulated around the perimeter of the hill. It felt like its own little island and that the surrounding countryside was its own version of the sea surrounding it.
The hideout itself was at the centre of the highest point on the hill, a ginormous oak tree laid on the ground, the exact same place since it had fallen, Its root still embedded in the dirt allowing it to live. Branches hung down and arched around the inner part of the hideout, its appearance looking much like a wooden carcass that encapsulated us from the outside world with a canopy of leaves and smaller branches. Each of us swung from the branches, climbed upwards among them and jump from one branch to another. One side of the hideout was steep, we created a slide, which in thought was really a desire line which ran down into the dirt from the wear and tear. We would run down this slide area we dubbed as the death trap, trying to use the branches by catching them and protecting us from sliding down to far. It felt like a fortress of solitude, a place to escape to. It was magnificent during the golden hour, there was an opening in the trees which allowed the orange glow of the sunset to seep through, the surreal feeling it gave the place, It was like something straight out of a Hollywood movie.
No one else really knew about our place, I used to go there by myself a lot and was happy to do so. I returned quite a bit as a teenager but not as much as I used to, I’d climb the highest trees I possibly could and watch the sunset from my perch. After my parents separated, time there started to become significantly less frequent but once in a blue moon, visiting my Dad gave the opportunity to go there and yet still to this day, I return to my little sanctuary. The place still holds much sentimental value to me.
The hideout itself was at the centre of the highest point on the hill, a ginormous oak tree laid on the ground, the exact same place since it had fallen, Its root still embedded in the dirt allowing it to live. Branches hung down and arched around the inner part of the hideout, its appearance looking much like a wooden carcass that encapsulated us from the outside world with a canopy of leaves and smaller branches. Each of us swung from the branches, climbed upwards among them and jump from one branch to another. One side of the hideout was steep, we created a slide, which in thought was really a desire line which ran down into the dirt from the wear and tear. We would run down this slide area we dubbed as the death trap, trying to use the branches by catching them and protecting us from sliding down to far. It felt like a fortress of solitude, a place to escape to. It was magnificent during the golden hour, there was an opening in the trees which allowed the orange glow of the sunset to seep through, the surreal feeling it gave the place, It was like something straight out of a Hollywood movie.
No one else really knew about our place, I used to go there by myself a lot and was happy to do so. I returned quite a bit as a teenager but not as much as I used to, I’d climb the highest trees I possibly could and watch the sunset from my perch. After my parents separated, time there started to become significantly less frequent but once in a blue moon, visiting my Dad gave the opportunity to go there and yet still to this day, I return to my little sanctuary. The place still holds much sentimental value to me.
-----------
Story from Graeme Daly, re-written by myself
Comments
Post a Comment