In a Beautiful Place

7:00 in the morning, my alarm goes off and I am greeted with a wet, sloppy kiss from my black Labrador Samson. This is routine. Once Sammy hears the echoes of Coldplay’s Viva La Vida, he comes right to my bedside looking for me to arise from my foggy slumber.  I roll out of bed and stumble into the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. I fumble through the medicine cabinet and find a hair tie, sweeping my messy chestnut hair into a bun on the back of my head. I tuck the loose strands of hair behind my ears and look in the mirror, evaluating my morning fogginess. Not terrible. Good enough to take Sammy for a walk. I put on a clean pair of sweatpants with BOSTON in white block letters down the side and pull a navy blue hoodie over my head.   “Ready to go outside?” I ask Sammy, moving into the living room. He wags his tail enthusiastically, knocking some stray papers from my latest story off the coffee table as he moves towards the door. I take the faded purple leash off the

     The world outside my window calls me. Whenever the weather cooperates—no snow, not too cold, not too rainy—I exist outside. I live in a city but my favorite places are the green sloping parks and bits of forest bridging one backyard to another. I am an explorer; from the trails behind my high school, to the dog park, to the ice cream shop down the street; I walk everywhere. My memories outside are vivid. From standing in the rain during a warm summer thunderstorm to walking home from school through the red and yellow leaves of fall, or climbing the tree in my backyard to watch the blue jays in my neighbor’s yard, I have always been ensnared by nature.      Today I leave footprints across my college campus. The trees wake from the recent snowstorm and absorb the sunshine. Light dances across the snow. Late winter air nips at my nose. I walk along a shoveled path by a green shrub and pick a stray clipping off the ground. I roll the needles between my fingers. Flat, small, and dull