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  • I rose up from my sanity and brushed the noise from my clothes.

    It had been awhile since I was here last. It’s colder now, still autumn however. I don’t know why I come here. It’s nice to escape the city I suppose, it’s even nicer to be able to escape oneself – I think this place allows that.

    A small plot of land deep in the Ohio hills: it lies between a row of trees (sycamore, if I’m not mistaken) and a small creek which has really begun to roar ever since the rain became insistent. The road that leads here isn’t highly traveled; you’d miss it if you weren’t looking for it, but I, for one, travel on it quite frequently. I love it here.

    There’s this sense of quiet, a quiet that I very seldom experience and one that I have not experienced elsewhere. It’s not quiet in the way midnight is midwinter, or the way a library is just before closing, it’s beyond that. It’s much simpler here. The quiet takes hand with the scenery and the two begin to dance - a cocktail of the elements, a fusion of their powers. I marvel at their imagery and begin hunting for the words to describe it:

    Hair-raising.

    Heart-stopping.

    Spine-tingling.

    Awe-inspiring

    (I’m really into hyphenates lately)

    None of these feel accurate. None of these feel adequate. As a wordsmith it’s a rarity when I’m at a loss for words. Sure, I can smack a few labels on this experience that would probably suffice, but none of which would feel right.

    “What’s the word?”

    I always bring a book here with me (today, Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls), maybe the mystery word will reveal itself to me in text. The pattern has hardly strayed: drive, smoke, walk, sit, read. Granted, I don’t always read, sometimes my books sit next me while I simply exist. They offer their company, and I either politely refuse or gladly dive right in. Today I refused (Hemingway rolls over in his grave, I'm sure). I leave my book next to me in the grass, and close my eyes. The words can wait.

    The wind, she whips, while the creeks prattles on. The tree’s steadily sway while the wind has her way with them. I lie down. I can feel the chill in the air adjusting my body’s external temperature, I can sense cloud movement from behind my eyelids. I feel it all; I can feel so much here. My mind goes blank, my muscles loosen, my bones shift.

    “Euphoric.”

    There’s the word.

    I rise up from my sanity and brush the noise from my clothes.
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