Well, I guess this is it. I didn't come here for nothing; I just didn't know what I was looking for. Yet.
Our family had just recently bought this huge plot of land which reminded me of the pictures of plantation fields plastered all over our old seventh grade history books, with its arms of vegitation reaching far beyond what could be appreciated. Likewise, green grass flowed like a gigantic ocean, which poured over the hillside, rolling over each blade. It was so hypnotic, you would think you were looking at a waterfall. The largest of those enrapturing hills was my favorite hill, which brooded over the mainland as if to intimidate all others with its size and strength. It was there on that graceful hill that I first saw it. Whitewash.
Whitewash was what I named the little abandoned home which lies on the top of that hill. Obviously, its name came from the clear white color. It always shines so bright while sitting on its mountainous throne. I went there on many occations to get away from the hustle and bustle that plagued my daily life. I guess I shouldn't blame anyone for it. It seemed that I should be used to the steady rhythms of work around our place because I grew up with it, but I always tried to distance myself from the strings and pulleys in life. I knew that I wasn't supposed to just endure the fatigue, so I just took it. Those who did made the world get caught up in going too fast. I was a dreamer and they, down there, don't accept many of us. So that is why I went up here, to my secret home, to my beautiful Whitewash.
I love the old smell inside of the place. Maybe it's just my anticipation of getting away, or maybe it's the calm that I felt the first time I came here, but that smell always stays close to my heart. I can still remember the air being especially cool that day...
Pushing through the movement of the wind I fought to climb up the miniature, green mountain. A bit chilled, I reached the top and got a huge surprise. There was a starch-colored shack, just sitting there. No, on closer inspection, it was in better shape than a shack. The grass surrounding the place was long and had not been tended to, but it just made the home look more complacent. As I walked closer, I could see that the inside was vacant and once again, my curiosity overtook me. "Now Autumn, you know better than that!" I thought to myself. But no, I had to see what was inside...
On the inside of the home there are many rooms. The hallway directly in front of the doorway is not very long and to the right, there is a small living room. Straight forward is the kitchen. I particularily liked this room because of the slight cinnimon aroma which remained clinging to the walls, telling of the many years of baked-from-scratch cookies and homemade feasts whose smells once permeated the whole house. When you look out of the kitchen, you can see a staircase opposite the dining room. The railing is cut slender and the wooden steps had worn crevices in them where family members had run up and down. Upstairs, there were three bedrooms and a bathroom. This is also where my favorite room is. I guess it had to be one of the children's rooms, but it reminded me of when I was around 10; carefree, happy, and unobstructed by the world. I was comfortable just living instead of being unaccepted for who I am now, at the age of 19. Too young to be respected, but too old to be a child again.
So this was where my journey had brought me today. To this little room. Like I said before, I didn't know quite what I was looking for, but there had to be something more to this room. I could feel it from the insides of my being. Maybe it's stupid to think of intuitions at this point, but there was some kind of resonating pull that kept me coming back; I had to come back. Back here.
