[ wp ] Describe something beautiful . It could be an alien landscape , or a person you fell in love with . It could be a gift that arrived at the perfect time and brought you up out of depression . Hell it could even be a simple conversation .

On my days off, if I can find the motivation I go for a walk in the park. 
 
 I shut and lock the door of my apartment, hearing the children laughing and tumbling through the door across the hall. The plaque on the single mother's door reads welcome and warmth to friends. We have little in common save the hallway, but she's always been a caring girl. 
 
 I trot down the stairs that are just slightly too tall and carefully open the door at the bottom. The shops below usually put displays out right beside the door and more than once I've smacked an old lady shuffling through the newest clothes when I was n't careful. 
 
 The flowers in the planters outside let off a lingering fresh scent that's all but swept away by the breeze off the ocean. Right now the tides are low, so there is a foul and rotting undertone to the air. The seaweed and all else that washes up every day is baking under the warm sun. 
 
 But it wo n't bother me for long. I nod to the people on the street as I start up the street at a slight incline. I recognize a few, but it's a small town so everyone is open and friendly. 
 
 I flip around the corner and a block away the trees loom high into the blue sky. The public park begins. 
 
 It's cooler in there, but immediately calmer. Quieter. It smells slightly damp; even in the height of a hot summer nothing completely dries out. But the smell is of earth and brown and green and it's so clean. It seems to clear the lungs with every breath. The paths are soft with fresh wood chips that give off a sweet scent with every step. The birds are dancing and singing high above in the treetops; only to fall to silence after a moment. I ca n't see anything but shafts of golden light filtering through the distant treetops, but I know an eagle or a raven has swept around above the treetops looking for an easy meal. 
 
 The squirrels chitter loudly at the disturbance I create. Silly things; though their indignation is warranted. Dogs often run free through the dead fall and chase them while their people half-heartedly call them away. 
 
 Today though I am alone. I can hear the distant thrum of cars, but I focus on the stillness around me. The passage of air through my lungs, the straining of my muscles as I climb a deceptive hill. Roots reach up through the earth, though someone has taken the time to spray them bright orange so one might not trip. It's jarring, the colour. Even though the fungus on the skeletons of old, rotting trees is as loud just along side the path, it is still unnatural. 
 
 My blood pumps a little faster through me; lifting my spirits as only physical exertion can. Everything under the shadowed canopy is green, or white or pink in flower. Here and there where an old sentinel has fallen smaller trees have struck through, reaching for eternity. But they can not grasp it all and the light steals through those small spaces creating natural spotlights on nature. 
 
 On a dead stump wider than my arms outstretched a tiny tree has started to grow. The branches are still a bright green; not even faded or battered into a rough brown bark yet. It is so delicate. 
 
 There on that hillock someone like me has found some loose stones and stacked them precariously atop each other; a monument to the peace of the moment. 
 
 The light directs me to all forms of life. The serenity is near complete. For not the first time I feel my chest swell and tears sting my eyes. I am not sad. No, this feeling never has any words to go with it. It just is. 
 
 This is my home.
