Destination: I'm Running Away

I get in these moods where I feel trapped. I feel like the walls are closing in on me, and if I don't do something, anything, then I will suffocate on my own air.
Anyone else feel the same?
Well, the way I cope with this is either
1. Nothing. Which leads to a dark depressed state of mind, where I frequently go just for the company, along with all my mistakes, disappointments, and hypothetical situations that like to talk too much. This usually lasts a short period of time- until I'm able to work through it.
or 2. I run. And I don't mean "I gonna go for a nice jog to clear my head". No! I mean run, as in run away. As in I pretend like I'm fleeing the country, and starting over in some magical land overrun by book characters I've created in my ever racing head.
Keep in mind though, that I never end up too far. I make it to the woods behind my neighborhood. And I call them 'woods' very lightly. It's basically a couple trees next to a water plant and some roads. Yet it's quiet, and if you try hard enough you kinda forget where you are. There's a special rock I like to sit on. Also, I'm using 'rock' very lightly because it's really a perfectly smooth slab of concrete. I've nicknamed it "The Crying Concrete"- it's seen many of my tears. 
But enough of this melodramatic monologue. In addition to it being my favorite hiding spot, Dad and I like to go down there and shoot our sling shots, because this is Kansas and there's not too much to do besides eat.

Dad and I are basically the same person, operating from the same brain so we understand each other very well. When he starts getting in these moods I can easily detect it- he gets antsy where I get broody. So, Sunday lent itself handsomely to a walk in the woods.
It's a mere right turn, right turn, left turn, left turn and you're in the woods- your ears filled with the sound of the Arkansas river. The river we all like to say 'doesn't smell' and 'doesn't look like a sewer'. We have to make the most of what we have, I suppose. It's a yearning of mine to live by water, I've always been drawn to it. Perhaps it's due to my isolation from it. As a child I would drag blanky, and Dog-Dog into the bathroom while my Mother took her shower. I would lie on the outside of the shower, stuffed dog underneath my head, and the sound of water trickling from the spout sending delightful chills up my back.
The water we have running behind Sunrise street is all we have, and all I've ever known- so I've learned to appreciate my travels down to the water's edge. And my father being apart of so many of those journeys, has had a tremendous impact on my life.

So on that bright Sunday afternoon, Dad and I set out on a journey of our own making. It's hard to go on an actual 'journey' in Wichita, Kansas, yet we have accepted the few walking paths, and even made a couple of our own. The clouds kept us company, and were a topic of intriguing interest in our dynamic dialogue. I found myself slowly talking more and more as we walked, each step I took I emphasized another word, and another discovery. Dad is now thoroughly up to date with my earthly findings.

The mangled trees, most commonly seen in the winter months, greeted our path with folklore and legends to occupy our imaginative thoughts. There's something spellbinding about the woods- fairy tales, musicals, and myths are all centered around the wonderfully dark and mysterious places. My Father and I have a special fondness for trees, gnarly ones with a history and a past we can only imagine, and imagine we do. We spin tales, which lead to hopes, which lead to dreams, which lead to some of the most comforting moments. My Father has always allowed me to talk, and talk, and talk, and he never grumbles. Rather he listens to each and every solitary word, and he replies to pondering questions, and complying silences. And so I continue until my voice is weak, and my mind is satisfied.

"If you truly love Nature, you will find beauty everywhere."
-Van Gogh

Dad and I continued our escape by collecting treasures. (I found a shell given to me by a River-Maid. And that was no ordinary leaf, but the last leaf of winter, to send to us good tidings of hope for an early spring.) As we skipped rocks we yelled at birds, and rejoiced over finding new flat rocks. And we kept the prettiest ones, yet gave the water back the others. Our pile of findings grew and grew and soon the backpack we took with us was full of shells, and rocks we would display around the house.
The sun continued to go down, so we found it best to walk back home before dark- it is the woods after all. While we walked to the river in chipper abandon with quick and witty dialogue, the walk back was full of companionable silence. It's a beautiful thing to share mutual silence with someone, no awkwardness involved, just the soft whisper of the wind in the trees and the fading sound of the river rushing downstream.
And it felt like we weren't home. And it felt good to get away. And it felt good to start missing my room, and my books, and my cat. And then everything was good again. And I can continue to appreciate where I am.
And the clouds continued to keep us company.

 When we returned home, Mom was waiting at the door, greeting us and relishing in our higher spirits. No longer was Dad antsy, and the water had broken my brood. I proceeded to walk throughout the house, like I was seeing it for the first time after a long time away. And it never looked more beautiful, and my books never looked so magnificent, and Scout had never been more happy.
It takes a lot of knowledge to live. You have to know what keeps you going, what keeps you from shutting down. It took me a long time to learn a routine, and I'm not embarrassed to admit it, nor ashamed. I've learned that a little water, and a couple clouds can keep me sane for a little while longer. That is, until the next time I'm ready to pack up and run- then it might be a cheap coffee, or a hug that holds me a little longer, maybe even someone will hold the door for me.
It's looking for the sun through the clouds. It's dancing in the rain. It's double chocolate chip cookies. And the smell of old books. It's life. It's life, and it's beautiful.
And if you don't take my word for it,
take Scout's!
She's proof enough that life is adorable, and cuddly, and has the cutest meow- or at least she does...

And that's the face I would like to end with.
Sleep well everyone! And until next time, keep running away and continue coming back,
Happy Reading!