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Writer's Block: Nirvana
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What is your favorite place in the world? What makes it so meaningful to you? How often do you visit or imagine being there?

That is a tough question to answer. To me, a place that could be considered special is always connected with a strong emotion, and that emotion need not always be a positive one. What makes it difficult to pick a single place is the fluid nature of emotions. Places change along with emotions but I can safely assign a few places of great import to my life as I feel confident that the emotions these places represent wont ever really go away. They may change over time, but the seed of them remains.

First, and this is in no particular order would be the city of Savannah. It is a magical place to be. Standing beneath live oaks draped in Spanish moss, wandering from one square to next (the city, despite its being ordered along precise grids, each grid being centered upon a village square can be confounding and labyrinthine, the aroma of the salt marsh which is a sort of pleasant decay ever present. That place suits my soul in a way no other city ever has and indeed, a part of my soul belongs to her because once you are enthralled by her charms, the enchantment doesn’t fade easily.

Secondly, and again in no order would be the serpentine circle (Why do circles always come into it?) of mountains from Amicalola Fall's, to Rock Pile Gap and up to Walaseeyee and down again to Dahlonega. These are my mountains and I am rooted to them as much as a tree is rooted to the ground. These were the mountains where my people came from and where I return when I need to recharge.

Third is a little house on Hook Street. The house is nothing special, it has no architecture worth seeing, no history, nor even any real charm and yet that place is perhaps the most important of all to me. In a sense, it was at that house my life’s journey honestly began, at a little brick house on Hook Street.

Fourth and perhaps this is a bit over existential but I belong to rivers and mountains. I am never so at ease as when I am near to one of these. I have dug my toes in the sand at the cusp of great oceans and felt a momentary awe at the vastness of our world but it is to easy to get swallowed up. It is all too big, to grand to take in without losing yourself. I suppose there is too much of the Hobbit in me, or the Kenneth Grahame’s Water Rat. I prefer simple things, a warm fire, a good meal and a small home to call my own.  No one comes to the sea with wonder who does not leave with a little terror at what it holds but rivers, at least to me have a different sort of power. If oceans are the body of the world then rivers are its pulmonary system. That is where I feel life and being alive. Knee deep in the cold water of a mountain stream, lazy time on mossy banks, this is my temple and rivers begin in mountains. It is no wonder that the gods of old made their dwellings on mountain heights. Could you imagine the Gods of Olympus without the solidity of Mount Olympus? Mountains are the closest most of us will ever come to heaven on earth. I hear of astronauts who have slipped the surely bonds of earth and entered into the cosmos. It is a very elite club but what wonder have they witnessed that I have not, myself on the mountain heights.

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens may be among my favorite things, if the song is to be believed but my favorite places are well...



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