THE PLACE

The place that I love to go to I have never been to physically, but have travelled there several times in my mind. The place is on a beach of Maine. It is late September, early October. The trees on the cliff behind me glow with brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows. Their colors provide warmth from the cool, salty ocean breeze.

As I walk along the beach, barefoot, I can the feel the cool sand on my feet. Every now and then the ocean rushes up and washes them off. A group of sea gulls fly around the lighthouse on the cliff. It stands there, a beacon in the night. As I look out over the ocean, the sun is setting over the infinitive ocean waves.

The colors are stunning. Blues, purples, reds, oranges, pinks, yellows; they all blend in a scene no painter could capture. Another breeze make me shrink into my wool sweater. I walk on, looking at the magnificent brown cliff, standing majestically. Many old house stand on top of the cliff, offering people an unforgettable view.

As I get further down the beach, the sun is gone, but a few brilliant colors trickle across the sky. Soon the stars come out, bright and beautiful. I see one twinkle and feel another breeze. I close my eyes and open them again, back in Wisconsin.