look what i found

sooo, i have to give a talk in church on sunday. am i working on completing it? nope, i'm organizing the files on my computer. because i'm the biggest procrastinator on the planet (if you think you can compete with me for that title, you cannot), and will do absolutely anything besides focus on the task at hand. anyhow, while "organizing" my life, i found this poem. i think maybe i wrote it in a creative writing class a couple semesters ago? i'm not sure where exactly it came from. but i found it. and anyone who knows my family knows that my mom is the writer. not me. but i'm being brave and showing the world anyways.

There is a place I like to go – to think, to dream, to pray, to wonder, to get away.

It’s my haven. 

It’s my refuge.

It’s my Sacred Grove.

There is something so ideal about swinging –

Pumping your feet,

Getting in a rhythm of moving your legs out and in to gain height,

Until you arrive at the point where you are as tall as the trees,

So close to the sky that you feel like if you reach out far enough,

You just might be able to touch it.

My playground takes me back to my childhood –

To a time when I didn’t care,

When I didn’t worry,

When I didn’t doubt.

A time when everything was still good,

When I wasn’t afraid to dream,

When I was completely myself.

It is there, on the last swing on the right,

That I take my deepest thoughts, secrets, and desires.

It is there, where the swings squeak and the children play,

That I discover myself.

I don’t know if it’s the cathartic fresh air,

The juvenile setting,

Or the fact that I have a place to escape to just two minutes from my house,

But there is nothing that lifts my mood like entering the world that I experience at that swing.

It is where everything else melts away,

Where, for however long I am there, nobody can bother me.

My playground isn’t fancy, secret, or my own.

But it’s perfect.

And when I’m there, I belong.