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Imagine this: there is a wide-open meadow, filled with wildflowers of many colors. To the left, there is a slow-current stream. To the right, a railroad track that stretches forever, both coming from and going to nowhere in particular. In the center of it all is a tall apple tree. Sitting up against the tree is myself, accompanied by my dog, Maggie, who has long since died from cancer. The sun is shining and there are few clouds in the sky. A gentle breeze is blowing. This is my happy place. It is here that I reside when I am unwanted or unneeded elsewhere. 'Tis also here that I can free myself of worries and anything that might possibly be bothering or disturbing me. When I am here, I might talk to Maggie, or I might reminisce. If I want to, I might invite a memory, real or artificial, of someone or something, be it a friend or pet, old or new, or something that happened or that has yet to happen. With whatever I decide to do in this halcyon place, I always manage to make peace with myself.

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