Grades 9/10 1st Teya Webster, “My Little Piece of Heaven”

My Little Piece of Heaven

Sometimes it feels like I’m spinning; like the months, the weeks, the days are swirling around in my head and blending into a single, everlasting, drawn-out dream. Sometimes I feel like I’m living out the same day over and over, like my life is just a set routine switched on repeat. It’s like my days are a playlist with only a single song. They loop and loop endlessly. The monotony is only broken by the occasional daydream of what used to be. Travel, adventure, vacation, a time when my life’s playlist had a new song each day. I surface from my little reveries and I have to remind myself that the answer is no. No new places, no new people, no new adventures. Every day I have to tame the emotions inside of me, they’re like rampant little cheetahs pacing at the gate, letting me know we’ve been caged too long and it’s time to go. The unequivocal predictability is mayhem to me and I am spinning, but I am comforted by the soft little voice that seems to reside in my soul which gently reminds me that I don’t need to travel to return my world to its axis. Soon I will be able to go to my haven, my happy place, my little piece of heaven that blooms for a few months each year.

I will walk in the acres upon acres of wide open fields, I will drink in and revere the sight of the sun-yellowed grass, the musky green ponds, and the clear blue sky overhead. The earth underneath me will cushion my foot falls, it will smell of strawberries baking in the sunshine, beads of dew, freshly-cut grass, the scents of summer. I will tilt my head back to look up at the weeping willows and their long, wiry fronds will brush my shoulders like the bony fingers of a wise old woman and they’ll tell me not to weep myself. I will tread those fields in the baking heat of summer and the sun will gently stroke my cheeks and my arms, and make a warm, shiny mirror of the golden locks of my hair. The tough, hoof-trodden blades of grass will poke at my bare calves below my shorts and above my boots as I walk by. They are resilient, burning sun, nor torrents of rain, nor the relentless grazing of the horses will hamper their growth. I will remember to thank the grass for its wisdom. I will drape my tired body over the dappled, shiny, sun-warmed back of my childhood pony and listen to her grazing, tearing and chewing rhythmically to the symphony that the crickets are blissfully performing for us. Her strong, curved back will support me, holding me like a cradle, and I will feel centered. It is only us, here, now, in this moment. I will feel joy here, I will feel peace. It will not be long now.

Soon the world will stop spinning, the caged sense will subside, and I will add my favourite song to my life’s playlist. Soon I will walk in my haven, my happy place, I will be enveloped by my little piece of heaven.

Teya Webster—1st Place, 9/10 Fiction