The breath of the morning. I keep forgetting...the smell of the warm summer air...

This is the song that describes my very soul. Honestly. I am not crazy or delusional here. It is the most perfect expression of me I have ever seen.

Only one person I have said that to truly understood when I told him. It did not hurt that he was familiar with the song's lyrics. He looked at me in amazement, shook my hand and said thank you. And we just smiled in understanding. It was really nice to feel so well understood in that shared moment.

The purpose of this entry is not to be depressing, though. The purpose of this entry is actually about joy:-) This is about stream of consciousness, something with which I am wholly unfamiliar;-) This is about indulging in a bit of fantasy. This is about those things that make me happy and do not come in Tristan shapes.

I left the house for smokes. Now, I do live in a city where you cannot smell a thing. Today was different. I walked outside and there was a chill. I shivered in the brisk air of the shadows from the houses around me. I reached the end of the block and put on my shades, which slid on unhindered, because the previous furrow in my brow was gone. The sun hit me. And I smelled the warm summer air.

I smelled the grass and the dirt. I was reminded of all the camping trips I used to go on with my father and of growing up in the suburbs, watching my dad mow our enormous lawn.

I was reminded of my metaphorical tree.

Only my tree is not a metaphor. Not really, anyway. It is my pillar of strength. It is large and weepy, willowy and wise. Timeless and infinite. Ancient beyond imagination, with too many stories to relate.

Beside it, a small lake. Glassy, like a mirror, the light of the moon fills the sky, perfectly mirrored in the lake below. Beside the lake on a cool summer night, beneath the tree, cloaked in the cascading branches, I sit and surrender my breath to the glow of the stars.

My tree. My source of power. My sanctuary. It exists, just not here, so I must rely on withered memories to envision it.

I love that certain people "get" my tree and do not find it silly or useless to engage in such fantasy. They know who they are and I hope they know what they mean to me:-)

Ahhhh, I derail.

Sad is the person who keeps track of these thoughts, for they, too, are insane:-)

I felt the cool breeze and felt the air chill my bare arms. I smelled the dirt and the grass. It made me happy, so I walked for a while. It reminded me of the gardens...of my tree.

I wish I did not live so far from the gardens that my laziness disrupts these walks, for the gardens make me feel at peace. Taking the train to the gardens is never a thought for one as lazy as I.

Strolling through, one sees the trees and the animals that approach as if to say hello. Watching the geese in the pond and squirrels that indeed love to stalk, I feel happy. The statues in the garden are my only reminder that I am not lost in the woods, but lost in a fantasy within the city. I even ignore the perfectly geometric precision with which the delicate blooms were placed. In the garden, I am reminded of my tree and I feel at home. I am an elf and I lose myself beneath my tree. I lose myself in its wisdom. I lose myself, finding myself in the process.

I gaze into the mirrored pool and do not see my reflection. I see the stars. I see the breathtaking beauty of the the Earth and the wisdom she contains. I glimpse only a fraction of that which she knows, and hope to leave with more than I arrived. I hope to recall the knowledge I surely once had, but now lies dormant deep within my brain.

I place the tip of my finger into the pool gently, causing a swell as my finger breaks the surface of the pool. The water undulates softly, allowing inner wisdom to breathe. The demons are quelled. She is silent, content to absorb what she sees.

I did not walk to the gardens, however. I did not visit my tree. I simply walked around my neighborhood. After my penance, it felt good to purge my demons with the light and eradicate the heavy thoughts that plague me from time to time. Luckily, this city believes that planting trees in rows will offset the hard, unnatural look of the pavement. And it does. They remind me of the sanctuary; of home.

I arrive at my destination and they stock that which I seek. I also discover delight in a Good Humor Strawberry shortcake ice cream bar. Ooh! And look! There is irish cream coffee with irish cream creamers! I am happy.

I even found conversation with those around me. Pleasantries. A shame that society often forgets them, in favor of our own pain and shadows, when pleasantries brighten a day so well. I spoke with a fellow coffee lover, who had chuckled when he was approaching and heard me whimper out, "Noooo," when I discovered that the Irish Cream coffee was empty. He then pointed out that the fresh pot was right behind me. And we spoke more of the mundane. Of our love for coffee. And flavored creamers. I likened it to liquid candy. And he laughed.

I will never see him again, nor would I likely remember his face. He, however, brightened my day just a little bit and I like to think I also brightened his.

I approached the clerk. I yawned. He smiled and engaged in conversation about the day and how I should sleep more (he see me in there too often at cracked out hours). And we also exchanged pleasantries. When I told him I hope he enjoyed his day upon my departure, I meant it.

And these small pleasures, often taken for granted, make me happy. I place these memories under the tree with me, so that I shall remember them when I find myself lost.

I left the store with a smile, floating into the sun. And I walked again, gliding along the rows of trees, back to my temporary home.

And I was happily awaiting the day that I might one day again, sit beneath my tree.