off in the meadow,
in a line of old shrubbery and vines and tangles,
near where the river turns in a bit
and the winter birds build their nests,
there is a quiet place,
a peaceful place,
where I used to go when I was younger,
when I wanted to get away from everything
and be alone.
like a small cave
under all the green growing things,
hidden from the world,
where a kid could crawl in
and feel safe and protected
and know he was away from it all,
and no one could find him.
sometimes it was like that -
i had to find a place to go,
a place to hide,
a place to be safe,
a place that only I knew,
a place that was my place...
sometimes it isn't easy
being a kid...
sometimes things are that way.
i'm older now,
but I went back to see it,
to see if it was still there,
to see if it was the way i remembered it,
and it was.
in my memory i was a kid again,
and as i looked around
i could almost feel how I felt back then.
and i stooped down
and crawled under the brush
and into my old hiding place,
tucking my legs to be able to fit,
and felt safe, once again,
from the world out there.
sitting there i realized
even a grown up needs a hideaway now and then.
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