Perhaps you have noticed that even in the very lightest breeze
you can hear the voice of the cottonwood tree
Snoskred asked where my safe place was as a child. Today’s story is about one of those safe places. Sort of.
My safe place was in a book. I loved books, I still do. My favorite day of the week was grocery shopping day (Thursdays) because not only did we get a donut, I got to go downstairs into the library where all the best things were. There is nothing better than a vast array of books, full of stories and new friends, just waiting for me to pick one.
Don’t get me wrong. I had real life friends and I played outside. I didn’t always live in a book. But from the time I learned to read a book has never been far from my hand. The best of them, the stories I lived along with the characters, I read again and again and again.
I read in my bedroom. I read in the bath. I read in the living room tucked into a corner of the big green couch. I read downstairs. I read by the iris because I loved them and I was hard to find there. And my favorite place to read was in the tops of the cottonwood tree. There was a perfect v-shaped branch that fit me just right. I could see over the top of the house and I was hidden by the thick foliage.
My mom, obviously, did not know about my favorite reading spot. I know she found out at some point but I’m afraid it was much later in my life. You don’t give up on a spot that good without a fight.