26 Sep 2014

that place

My breath swirls in white, pasty clouds whenever I blow out. The air is so cold and I can feel that my fingertips are stiff. A chilly breeze picks up a few strands of my dark brunette hair and then lets them drop again. My pale skin looks even paler than usual.
I used to mind being pale. But not out here. Here I blend in, because almost everything is white.
I can feel a racing thud in my chest. I breathe, in, out, in, out, gently, and my heart slows. Why it was beating so fast in the first place, I do not know.
Tiny snowflakes flutter to the ground. One lands on the tip of my nose and starts melting.
I am not that cold, then, if I can still cause snowflakes to melt. But it feels as though I have no warmth left.
I stare at the frozen lake that is a deep blue color, and wonder if it would the ice would be thick enough to hold me. I throw a rock onto the surface. It cracks and breaks with a shudder, leaving a hole in which the rock sinks.
Probably not.
I brush snow off my bare shoulders and off the top of my head. Most would call me crazy to come out here in only a white, sleeveless dress, but I don't care. It feels like tradition, because every time I come here, I wear the same thing.
 The dead log that I am sitting on is collecting small heaps of snow, on either side of me. The snowfall is getting thicker now, and soon I must go home. 
I do not mind going home so much. I know it is warm and cozy inside, and there will be hot chocolate to drink and books to read and a fire to sit by.
No, I wouldn't mind going home.
But I don't like to leave this place either.
"Hello," I call out, but only to hear the sound of my voice, because there is no sound out here except for the wind, and silence can sometimes be scary.
Time passes. I watch little brown birds come and drink from the hole I made in the lake. I want the birds to whistle or tweet, but they don't, and still, only the wind talks to me. I watch the bare-branched trees shake in a gust of wind.  I watch more snow fall from the vast, white sky.
Eventually I stand. I dust off my dress. I stomp a bit to get my blood flowing so that I am not so stiff and freezing.
I start to walk away.
Away from that place.
Maybe tomorrow, or the next day, or even next Winter, I will come back.
Because I like that place. Even if I cannot explain why.
But for now, I am going home.

Have you ever had...a certain place that you loved? Somewhere you felt you could just be alone, and be you? Somewhere where your troubles did not follow you?
I have.


Hey. ♥ I wrote that mostly because I was sparked with the occasional, sudden urge to write.
I enjoyed writing this so much. Drawing and writing and painting are three of my happy places, but I have physical happy places, too. Before my family and I moved, we lived in a house that had a roof that was easy to climb on. And so, since eight or nine, I started climbing up there whenever I was sad, or when the world felt chaotic. I climbed up there and cleared my head, talked to God- and when I climbed down, I felt better.
I could never explain why that place, on top of that roof, brought me peace. But it did.


  1. Beautiful writing! The place for me is actually my room, haha :) I have a talk with God there when I feel worried, or sad, and it's my favorite spot to snuggle up with a good book.


    1. Thank you!♥ That is very usual. I love my room as well...definitely a good place to snuggle and read.

  2. Tane, I'm glad your back into the blogging world! I love your blog!

  3. This is so beautiful Tane!! <3 Oh and I looove your new blog design. :)

  4. This is AMAZING. By AMAZING I mean out of the world amazing!<3
    Most beautiful piece of writing I've seen all week!
    If you ever stop writing, I will be upset!:)
    The Journeys' of my beating heart

    1. You. Are far too kind, June!
      Thank you so so much, darling♥

  5. I really love this concept of taking a photo and writing a story on it. ;) What you wrote makes me feel chilly and peaceful at the same time, just like the character.

    For me, my "safe place" was very often my own imagination. Weird, huh?

    1. Thank you so much, Liz. I really appreciate your comment.
      And, no, not weird, because I can totally relate. We often have more than one safe place, and my imagination is one of them for me, as well.

  6. Tane. You leave me speechless.


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