Home.

I am not where I thought I’d be

This Fall.

You see, I always thought I’d go to a college

With lots and lots of

Trees.

Adrian has trees, yes I know,

But that’s not what I mean.

I had envisioned a place

With Castles for Houses and

Libraries with Multiple

Stories.

I wanted to go to a school

Where the foliage made arches

And walk side-by-side with my

Forever Bestfriend,

Talking of the world like it could never end.

But I am not where I had ever thought I’d be

This Fall.

Picture with me a group of friends sitting against a low, crumbling, cool brick wall. The glory of a warm sun is sinking steadily behind them, throwing their shadows up opposite of their bent, busy frames.

Though there are only a few beings present, the air is charged with the feelings of their thoughts as the pens they hold scratch evenly, franticly, calmly, quickly, against the already ink-filled pages of their notebooks. The surroundings of these people are being drawn, sucked in the tops of their heads, shooting down the raging currents of their bloodstream, and splattering back out into language through their hands.

One pen stops suddenly.

Up jerks a blonde tussle of hair and then-- gently rests back on the shoulders of a girl who has just experienced the true meaning of epiphany.

Never in her life has she been a part of something like this.

Never has she written? No, that isn’t it. Never has she felt such a wonderful breeze on her face? Not that, either. Never has she been in a group of peers where she feels very much at home like she does now?

Yes, that’s it.

That’s it exactly.

Down she stares at the hidden complaints etched in blue on her paper. Gone is the frown and instead replaced with the wry grin she wears so often and so well. How had she never realized that this is what she so desperately wanted? And because it was colored in a different light than what she had been looking for, she almost missed it.

Gripping her inkpen, the girl tightly hugs her knees as she stares, unabashedly, at her companions. Filled with a sense of awe, the lines on each face are studied intently, innocently. She watches strong and slender hands dart down pages, covering the lines over with the hearts of the authors. Feeling every individual with her gaze, silently she makes known to the trees that all she wanted was to understand if the others understood what was happening inside of her.

But not one looked up in recognition, so the girl remained content to sit and study the modern-psalmists as they worked.

As all things must, the time ended and everyone roused themselves and made to leave. However, the girl was determined to savor as much of the magic moment as she could. She didn’t want this newly discovered world to end as quickly as it had begun.

A tug at the notepad held firmly in her grasp brought her back to the surface and she turned, face-to-face with someone, not so dissimilar from herself, who was interested in what had been penned. Ironically enough, though she had no qualms about wanting to bear the inner sanctums of the writers around her, she herself was not quite yet ready to be discovered. Refusing the advance as politely as possible, wordbook replaced to her chest, the girl plunged back into the timestream of her company and listened in wonder to the depth of the thoughts she hadn’t realized existed in a place outside of her own mind.

And as the sun completed The Path of the Leaves, the girl remained wonderfully, completely,

Happy.