Surrounded by evergreens on a simple path of worn ground, wind whispers by me with gentle wandering hands. From above the sun kisses my cheeks, smooths over my arms, while pine needles crunch beneath my feet, bare all this time and proudly wearing the dust of travel. Just ahead there is a lake, crystalline and calm, where I find a large rock protruding from the water's edge more than large enough to make a proper seat. The stone is almost too cool to the touch but I embrace the sensation and sink into it to admire the mountains standing guard, majestic protectors of this fantastic serenity. Face upturned and eyes closed, I breathe in deep the heady, soothing mixture of forest, earth, and water.
The CD stops. I open my eyes and stare at my mother's dirty blue ceiling, just another worn down piece of a crumbling farmhouse that never had its glory days. The mattress dips in where one too many derrieres has beaten the springs into submission. The overhead is off and the dusty cloud-covered curtains keep the light dim. I could fall asleep if I stayed here, in my parents' bedroom. I don't. I scoot, scoot, scoot down the length of the bed to avoid the clutter of books and dirty tissues that missed the trash can until my feet touch the almost not-soft kitten rug that I cannot remember not being there. I don't feel magically refreshed like the cover promised but I'll try again. Later. Magic needs faith, trust, and pixie dust and I'm low on all three.