My Sweet Escape | Teen Ink

My Sweet Escape

September 23, 2010
By Elisabeth GOLD, Nottingham, New Hampshire
Elisabeth GOLD, Nottingham, New Hampshire
10 articles 0 photos 23 comments

Favorite Quote:
"A true friend is hard to find, difficult to leave, and impossible to forget."

The colors of the trees were beautiful, full of vibrant reds and oranges. Pale yellows coated some trees, and occasionally a brown. I looked up and saw these colors surrounding me. These were the colors of my home.

I walked along my dirt road, a mile into the deep woods in a town that was already almost non-existent to the world around us. I passed my second-favorite place to be, my beach. The grass that sometimes grew on the beach was dying off, as it was autumn. The water lapped gently at the shore. A small breeze blew, and my hair rustled in the wind, but now was not the time to walk along the sandy shore, or bike along my old wooden dock. Right now I was going to my favorite place to be.

From the beach, I walked up two hills, the second hill bigger than the first. The beautiful trees still surrounded me, bringing splendid colors to the earth when the sun shone directly on them. I kept walking till I reached a house that too an outsider would almost seem abandoned, but I was not an outsider.

I passed the front door of them home, knowing no one was inside, and it would be no use to knock. I walked into their front yard, which was not really a front yard. It had a small stone path that lead to where I was going, and a deck. That was it.

I followed my path about fifty feet till I got to an old wooden staircase. It may not look old to the eye of a person just passing by, but I had been there when the owners had repainted it, making it much more appealing than the older version.

I walked down, my right hand barely touching the handle of the steep, wooden staircase. It took me about ten steps to reach the bottom, where a dock the size of a ping pong table bobbed in the water. I stood at the end of the staircase for a second, and looked around. There in the middle of it sat an old wooden bench. The wood that made up the bench was sturdy, but dirty. The black iron handles that were curved at the ends were the same way.

I sat on the bench, looking out into my lake. The sun was just setting over the mountain, or the hill compared to others, on the far end of the lake. The sky was lit up with beautiful oranges and reds, and the puffy white clouds were colored pink in the sky. As I sat on my bench, I thought how lucky I was to live in this place, a place where the sunset can mesmerize you, a place where I can do what I want, and a place where I can be free. This place was more like home to me than my actual home was. This place was my favorite place in the world. Some people out there might be thinking what a beautiful place, if only it was real. Well, let me tell them something. This place, my favorite place, is real. And so am I.

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.