[ WP ] Write a description of a place from your childhood that you were fond of .

In a time where I often found myself in dismay and in search of any form of comfort, however rudimentary, I had at long last found a salvation, not in a person, but in a fort. 
 
 My castle stood close to the edge of the expanse of a coniferous forest. The timber walls and roof, recycled from the forever gracious Mother Nature, blended wonderfully into the scene. From the outside, my newly-built retreat looked like a small keep, belonging to a lesser lord. But, from the inside, it was a glorious kingdom fit for the most beloved of kings! This kingdom needed no guards nor servants, as my remote four walls and roof provided ample security against the wickedly wry truth of reality. 
 
 Walking up to the entrance would present a drawbridge of planks, providing a substantial path to the gate. At the front of the fort was a small rectangular hole in which to enter, blocked by a sturdy picket gateway. Above this hole was an inquisitive sign reading Salutem—a sight which induced a coy smile every time it was read. The make-shift entrance bowed only slightly above my head, which is saying quite a bit for someone of shorter stature. 
 
 Upon entering my abode, I would always plop down on my silky, cream-colored hammock. A grand, yet modest, candle shot arcs of light about the room, embers crackling off of the flame. As the candle bled its virtue about the scene, it illuminated a hefty stack of books in the corner of the room. Always finding comfort in scent of old books, I would sit for hours pondering the atramentous words, applying them to my own imagination. The desk that sat in the opposite corner was nothing less than a tinker's station—a birthing table of creativity! The collection of robust sticks was but an arsenal of swords hanging upon the wall with blades made of only the most splendid silver—blustering their beauty for all observers! This was not just a fort in the woods, but a kingdom of creativity which would act as a catalyst to the most prolific and innovative of people—hoisting them out of obscurity. 
 
 As I lied in my hammock, the sweet aroma of pine needles seeped through the wooden walls, cascading their way through the fort like a curious child surveying his new home. But much akin to the attention span of a child, the scent carried on out of the building and drifted away among the breeze, leaving me content, yet reminiscent. 
 
 In the present, I have decided to return to the forest of my childhood. One of the first things to enchant me with nostalgia was the exact same underlying scent of pine in the breeze, wisping its way along the route in which I sauntered. A thick blanket of needles overspread the forest floor, crunching and cracking under the pressure of each stride I graciously took. As I furthered along my trek, the assonance of bird-song accompanied my thoughts, like an anthem celebrating my return. 
 
 The eyes of the forest gave encouraging stares—towering above all else as they stretch their roots into the earth. I came upon the edge of the woodland, feeling a sensation of bliss rupture inside me as I spotted what was once the place I considered home. My drawbridge was no longer present, as the wood had given itself back to the Earth to begin its cycle once more. The walls of the hut were slightly decayed, but that is to be expected with anything in life—the passing of time makes no exceptions. But no matter how much time passes, no matter what may happen, there are some memories that can never be omitted. Decayed, perhaps, but never rubbed away. The memory of this hut would remain with me for all of eternity. What was once a roof was now completely void of existence, and the walls now hosted an array of bougainvillea—providing a home to yet another life in need. 
 
 I crouched through the entrance, barely able to fit through, and stood amidst the fort—surveying what was left. The hammock now lied on the floor, and a stub of wax stood beside it. My desk of creativity still stood in its respective corner, albeit rotted, and the spacious chest that once held my belongings remained in tact. But none of that mattered to me in the moment. The fact that my fort withstood the test of time and still held strong was enough to fulfill me of hope. I draped a blanket on the floor and lied down, cherishing the azure sky which forever remains above. 

