With a pencil in hand and her notebook on her lap, she began to write what she saw. She wrote about the light sprinkle of rain falling from the sky, she wrote about the soft rock that she lay upon. She wrote how the roses glistened from the raindrops slowly falling on the flower. This was her spot to write, her favorite spot. Nothing in the world would take her away from her writing. Once she started it was almost impossible to stop.

It was something she had done since she was little; she was overly perspective of the world around her, which made it easy to write. Her mother called it an, ‘overactive imagination’, but she usually scoffed at the answer and continued to write.
She loved knowing the world around her, to see the beauty in everything. That’s why this place was special. When she was here no one could find her or distract her.
She found this place when she was thirteen, every time she came to write there was something different. A flower may have bloomed or a bird’s nest was just created in a nearby oak tree above the river.
She closed her notebook, sighing. She looked down at the sleeping dog covered in dirt. “Come on, Dusty. Time to go.” The yellow lab jumped up and began to run to her car. She looked back once more at her place. “I’ll be back soon,” she mumbled more to herself than her place. “I promise.”