shimmer

When I was a little girl, the people who lived behind us had a huge tree that grew right next to the fence we shared. My mother never really took care of much in our yard, and the tree limbs that grew to our side of the fence were seldom, if ever, trimmed. The branches of the tree grew long, and their long, heavy branches swept the ground perhaps ten feet from the fence, creating a "tree-house" of sorts. You could step through the branches to a shaded, sheltered world. Nothing but dirt would grow in the shade of those branches, of course. My sisters and I spent many hours playing under the shade, hidden by the huge canopy of branches.

But even as special as our dirt-floored, branch hut was, I had my own secret place among the leaves. Hidden within the branches to one side was a tiny green alcove, just big enough for one child. Soft grass grew there because enough light came through, and all sides were surrounded by thick green branches. I would slip in between the branches, and lie there in my little hollow, listening to the trees and the grass and the birds and every living thing. I would sit and read I would lie there and dream of being a a rock star, the President, and all my other girlhood dreams. It was holy there... I was holy there. I felt safe and hidden, sheltered from the hot California sun, soothed by the green and the shade.

Now that I'm supposed to be all grown up, finding a hiding place seems harder, or less socially acceptable. Maybe both. Last week on my lunch break at work, I took my book and went to my minivan. I had a pillow and a comforter in back, and my car was parked in the shade. It was cool in the back seat of the van, and I felt hidden behind the tinted windows. I lay down on the seat with my book, and had my refuge again.

Posted by Jean on Monday, July 19, 2004 at 10:04 AM | Permalink