The misty image of a lush forest appears below me. I am not solid, just a foggy image in the darkness of a forgetful mind. Yet I can see what once was a blank canvas becomes a light clearing in a dark forest. Perhaps like me, a bright thought in a shadowy corner of the brain. I gaze down from my uplifted point of view. Noticing every leaf’s color and every blade of grass’s shape come to life. Suddenly the whirring of the brain stops, changes direction, and reaches back to the farthest corner of itself. Groping around in the dark, it’s fingers wrap around me and pull me into the light. Abruptly, I find myself slowly floating down towards the painting. I land gently on the small dirt path, that, not long before, had been carefully placed just there. I catch a brief glimpse of woods I am now standing in before I turn to face my, and the paintings, creator. The giant face, not unlike my own, stares down at me, tilts in thought, and frowns.
Down on East Harbor Road there is a small restaurant,
I walk by it every day on my way to and from school.
I never see a soul go in or out yet there is a friendly feeling about it.
It’s the type of place where you look over and say “I’m gonna go in there tomorrow and find out what exactly is inside!”
But when tomorrow comes your thought has ran away with the mist.
And the restaurant on East harbor Road still sits there, an undiscovered planet.
They call it “The Place”.
It’s the type of place where on a day your coming home from school and that day the teacher announced that they really liked your story and even though the kid who read it read it too fast and mispronounced phenomenon and sophisticated you still feel that warm steam in your stomach rising up and filling your chest until your about to explode.
“Julie, have you seen my colored pencils?” I yelled to my older sister. “They're on the table where you left them” She yelled back without looking up from her book. “Why didn’t you move them?” I asked walking back into the living room where Julie sat curled up in the old, red chair by the pellet stove. “That’s not my job” she replied still looking only at her book, “Sure” I mumbled as I sat down on the floor and plopped my notebook and pencils on the coffee table. Soon I was deep into the land of drawing and reality had long faded away. All that mattered now was what shade of blue to use for the sea and if the edge of the sun should be smooth or zig-zagged. I was so absorbed in every detail that I didn’t notice Julie looking over my shoulder, “That’s good” she said gazing at my island scene. She used a mellow voice, almost like she didn’t mean what she was saying but I could identify a hint of wow.