The Cottage

January 25, 2010
As the sun tiptoes past the horizon a small yet powerful buzzing begins. The bumblebee’s song signals that it’s time to awaken again. The puddles on Cherry Ave start to thaw, while the dew on the grass glistens as the feet of the sun make their way into the town. When the beams of morning hit the small cottage overlooking the middle of Lake Winnipesaukee the people of Gilford, New Hampshire are still nestled in their homes after witnessing a rumbling storm that kept many awake throughout the night. Daily activities of the inhabitants begin in a rush. The clock is ticking, when it runs out the families must return back to their shelters to ensure safety of the Mother Nature’s nighttime terrors. And the ones that don’t listen to the warning; we pray for.
A young boy passes me. He’s chasing a butterfly, down that stoned path into the town wood. Usually, no one ventures there; this child must be different than the rest of them. Like robots, they’ve been taught to do as their parents been told by theirs and so on. Guidelines of their society have are being treated as mandatory rules, when put in that sense, forbade children from being exactly that, children. That young boy and I have a lot in common, we both disobey our elders. For him; secretly scraping vegetables to the family dog at dinner. For me; going out at night past hours with friends whom I’ve just met. And for us both; speculation of the woods.
The boy continued to chase the butterfly and soon made his way through the entrance of the woods; gaping at the mystery in the distance. Before commencing his endeavor, he took one last look at the world he knew, the world were children were treated as adults, the world that seemed so orderly and ruled, the world that – he was soon to discover – had an astonishing secret.
The ground was a carpet of green perfection leading the way to all sorts of fun; trees like giants, carved with symbols of the past, curtains of vines like shields for the delicate flowers below. Figures of fairies and creatures dressed up at humans, making fun of such strict civilization and bringing laughter to the young boy. That day, he witnessed games, stories, and magic, all intertwined with nature, that he couldn’t have dreamed of ever seeing.
Once you’ve stepped into the fortress blatantly knows as the woods, it’s hard to step out and be able to look at the world the same. These woods are a hidden sanctuary for innocence. Children in strict and battered societies often find a way out of that with a hobby. The wood of Gilford is the place where magically things happen. People, who have been taught or have on their own grown up too fast, cannot witness these majestic things. Only a child with an open eye to the world can look into this crystal ball and realize its true meaning. As the young boy makes his way back, he notices a shadow of a butterfly following home, the same one from before. Stepping back into the world lacking magic and laughter; wasn’t pleasurable. But viewing that window of opportunity was worth it.

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