Greetings, Friends ~
Few things in life give me greater joy than sitting outside in the morning hours, writing. The air is clean, birds are singing and life on this planet is gifted another fresh start. Writing is good at day’s end, too. When the sun is falling, the sky lights up with color representing the many pictures life painted during the daylight hours.
Sitting here sipping my coffee, I am feeling somewhat nostalgic. To the left, there is a wooden fence encasing the yard which divides two properties. It reminds me that we live in a country where we can have our own space to create a sanctuary.
I recall in my teenage years, my family lived in a house situated on a property so remote that there was no need for a fence. The closest neighbors were further down the gravel road that stretched a good distance in both directions.
Early on, I followed that road till it made a sharp turn, but I did not continue. Determined to see what was hidden beyond a thick tree line visible across a large field, I veered off and began walking to those trees. I am certain that field is not as big as it appears in my memory, but back then, it was a long way there.
Just beyond the tree line, there was a rock-and-sand beach which was perfectly decorated by Mother Nature. Trees and bushes that grow plentiful in the Pacific Northwest had been carefully placed. They framed a peaceful setting near the moving water. At first discovery, I made a mental note that this would be my space. I did return, journal-in-hand.
Evenings too great to count, I sat on the river’s edge crafting poetry, drawing pictures and scribing goals for my future. Many of those early writings still exist in a worn out binder. Over 30 years later, I read those penciled creations of my youth. I remember my goals too, many of which are now accomplished.
That tree line, the endless field leading me to it and the peaceful place at the water’s edge are forever burned in my mind as the birth place of my writing. I continue to actively search for such areas. I grab my camera and record the beauty that exists there, and I write.
In Oregon, these paradises lie in every direction and are too many to count. When my world gets too busy, my journal and I leave the scape of the city looking for such a place. I never have to go far to find my “just beyond the tree line.” I am blessed that way.