I dream of home, part 2

I dream of home. Not just the place but the concept. To me home has always meant the forest. I am going to cry as I write it out. Coming out of my house. Walking down the road. Turning a small corner - and then it’s a sharp turn up a hidden passage - up up up the steepest hill in the world (apart from another even steeper one in the valley down the road) - and then you are in the woods. And I cannot even describe to you how it feels to find another magical new spot in the woods.

A big old oak tree that stands alone miles and miles from civilisation. The top of the hill. I live on a big plateau and at the top of the plateau my mum calls it top of the hill. I guess that name stuck. I went there some times on my own even though it was a massive hike and probably a little bit too dangerous to attempt alone. But once or twice I did it with someone. And sometimes we would just drive up there with or without doing a walk as well

When I lived back there I would sometimes really want to go all the way up there 

But I would be too afraid to do so. Eg it involves walking through the deep deep woods alone. Looking back. I wonder why I forced myself to do it again

I guess

I thought of those magical places and I wanted to go back

And I guess that I could see that they were magical

So I thought that by going there

Even when I was too scared to go

I would make myself more magical

But don’t you see

I’m already magical