World Building

Tangled up in the sheets, I kick my feet free from their crinkly 400 thread count prison and pivot my body until they swing and touch down on the cold hardwood floor, shooting goose bumps across my limbs. Taking a quick breath to ease the chilly shock, I ball up my fists and push my way up off the bed into the dark room, knuckles popping. Rubbing some friction into my arms, I begin rooting around for a soft oversized hoodie, as my dog sleepily follows my movement from his warm perch by my pillows. Though endlessly loyal, our night run hours before has him bushed, so he tucks his face back under his bushy flume of a tail. Hoodie thrown on, I fumble for keys and tiptoe out the door, passing photos of family in the dimly lit hall and pass through kitchen. The ceiling fan listlessly hums it’s goodbye as I quietly slide the patio door closed behind me and as I quietly step through the dewy grass toward my sleeping car.

Backing out of the driveway, I push back the sunroof and let the wind do what it will to my hair as I make my way to the interstate. As my headlights drill holes in the misty blackness, the air hangs heavy with the scent of damp earth. It’s 1:39 AM, so I see few other cars, other than the occasional cop car nestled in a shadow stand of trees looking for speeders.

Driving into the hazy, purple twilight, I pass by all too familiar land marks of funny trinket shops, the old train station and the honeysuckle covered gazebo by The Village Scoop. Beyond main street, I turn down the frontage road, twisting and turning, rising and falling, winding through the hills until I pass the suburban border, a threshold where the sea of residential homesteads turns into pure untainted forest.

Lit only by the occasional far off twinkling light of a front porch, the gravel road takes me through the trees that stretch so tall it looks like they could almost touch the stars. The scent of pine needles is strong here, rushing in through the sun roof and filling my car with memories of running through the forest chasing shadows and playing flashlight tag. Lost in thought, I almost miss the turn for my little lakeside hideaway.

The park is pitch black, lit only by an iron lamp post laden in a fog of insects. Feeling my way down the cool concrete sidewalk toward the sings, my smile widens at the sudden sensation of sand between my toes. Freshwater waves fizz as they roll up onto the beach and soak the sand. Settling into a swing, I begin pumping my legs and watch the starry canopy pulse overhead.

Here is where I stay, lost in dreams and beauty and reverie, swept up in the lush scent of the forest, lake and the recent rainfall, just swinging, swinging, swinging.