The Mound Essay, Research Paper

I’d like to invite you to a special place, a place where dreams and fantasies come true. It is a place where you can be who you want to be, say what you want to say, or do what you want to do. I call it “The Mound.”

The Mound is at the top of a small mountain not very far from home. It is covered in lush green grass and clover with little patches of lavender. The purple patches stand out amongst the grass and soil and ripple like a river on a windy day. I make use of ground cover as a bed to lie upon, dreaming endlessly. It smells like a sweet bouquet — The way your clothes smell when they come out of a warm dryer. A smell you can drift away and relinquish yourself within. And you can taste the pine trees, which stand miles away, as their scent blows with the soft, welcomed breeze.

Lying here I watch the clouds twist and turn. They are moving pictures with stories. In the clouds I see a man rowing a boat, striding through the water. It parts as if to welcome him through, but the clouds turn and the water becomes rough and choppy. Before he can manage to reach the waterfall just ahead he fades away and becomes a bird in flight looking for a branch to land on. In that instance a bird lands on a branch of a grand oak tree. I get up and walk towards the tree. It seems like its branches extend as far as I can see. Its trunk is at least six and a half feet around, its bark is rough, and its foliage is thick and plush. I look up and see branch upon branch winding like a stairway to the heavens. I can feel the warm sun, shining on my face as I walk. It is quiet and serene in this place. The breeze blowing through the nearby bushes and the chirping of birds combine to make a symphony; it is the only sound I hear.

The view from my Mound is new and exciting each and every day. I see a panoramic view of a forest, village, gully, and lake. The forest is dense and dark beneath it’s canopy of many different colors. I see green, blue, black, amber, and silver. There are a wide range of shades for each color. Depending on circumstances, colors change before my very eyes. The forest’s canopy produces images amidst its color variations as the wind blows and sun changes its position. One day children play on a swingset in one area happy and laughing in the sun. On another day,in the same place, a kitten stretches on a window sill cleaning its paws and stomach as it relaxes. It always amazes me what I can find. The forest streches out across the hills becoming more and more sparse until it reaches the village.

The name of the village is Barley, it is small with a population of less than one hundred. Bright orange and green roofs of the little houses stand out on the hillside like mosaic tiling. A main road runs directly through the village; therefore a lot of people travel through, but there isn’t much here otherwise. The village people move quickly like a colony of ants from one place to another; They are a moving collage of color. I sometimes watch these people travel back and forth to the lake just to the right.

It is a lake where ducks, swans, and geese swim peacefully on the clear, fresh water. The water looks like flowing silk. It holds up a mirror to the sky and reflects a baby blue and magenta glaze. The sun bounces back and forth between the white cotton clouds. As rays of light escape, the folds of water shimmer in silver and trees dance around catching each ray possible. A small cottage on the edge of the water is bright and cheery. Surrounding it is a white picket fence. Tinges of color from the surrounding area are radiant. Smoke from the chimney pours out, and I can smell the burning wood. It looks very inviting and cozy. The taste of smoked beef jerky immediately comes to mind. Farmers work in the field behind the cottage. I can hear the roar of the tractors whisking away tufts of grass and rock. Dry soil floats in a cloud of smoke, disrupted by the spinning wheels of the tractor, creating a haze over the entire hillside.

The best part of my view is the gully. It sits between the lake and the forest, and is below my Mound and the adjacent hill. A thin stream begins at the center part of the hill, at a natural well. It looks more like a pit, but I have been there. The inside walls are lined with solid rock and the water flows cold and clean. The stream runs through a blanket of bronze ferns trickling as it winds around and bumps every stone above the surface. Scattered among the ferns are white lilies, and red and orange poppies. It is a rainbow of color. I frequently see deer and their fawn come to sit at the side of the stream for a quick drink. Many creatures stop by to quench their thirst and endulge in the wide variety of greens.

I can see all these beautiful things from my Mound, but I prefer to be here. The air is crisp and tingles my lungs as I breathe deeply. I have a complete sense of well – being as I am able to look out on many beautiful areas below. It is a place to rejoice in nature’s name, a place to let my heart run wild and free.

319