If only peace could last

Finding peace in an empty field.

Soft, green grass carpets the ground and runs down until it embraces the gently lapping, brown water. Here and there are patches of daisies that have burst forth from the damp soil and reached up towards the sun with little yellow, smiling faces. A solitary oak tree stands at attention several yards from the water’s edge. It’s an old tree by most standards, towering above the ground with its ancient branches spread out like eager fingers to scrape the air. The vibrant green leaves rustle softly in the breeze and the branches sway slightly and the tree’s shadow upon the ground moves about like a large bird preening its thick feathers. Two bands of thick, scratchy rope are wrapped about one of the tree’s lower branches and extend downward until it attaches to a yellow wooden plank worn smooth from generations of kids using it as a swing. A young girl is sitting on the swing and her tan legs are pumping back and forth swinging her ever higher, before vaulting her into the air. Her soft green summer dress matches her startlingly bright, emerald eyes which are turned up to the sky. Her pink lips are stretched into a wide smile, and her laughter bursts forth and echoes through the aging tree branches. Following her normal routine, she leans among the gray tree roots after swinging for awhile and reads a small, leather volume filled with poems and pressed flowers. If only peacefulness like this could last forever.