The Splintered Old Bench

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The Splintered Old Bench

No one will find me. I’ll have hidden myself well. I part the green curtain as I walk, armed only with a camera, pen and paper, and a book. Behind me, the overgrown foliage and gnarled roots weave themselves back together, concealing the path I have taken. A passerby will overlook my refuge and dismiss it as just another place that nature has reclaimed from the materialistic world. A smile creeps across my face as I anticipate my long sought solitude. I will be safe; no one will seek me here. I will be left alone with my imagination.

The old wooden bench greets me as it leans its back against a sturdy pine tree. It beckons to me to come share its secret world, to watch the day and all its happenings from its sacred sanctuary.

I brush the pine needles of...

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