Some early morning before breakfast, I had wandered far enough into the backwoods of Shingletown: a small town in Shasta county. I came across this erie old rocking chair with an axe propped up against it’s weather beaten arm. Both of these items were sitting behind an old abandoned shed tucked away beneath a blanket of dead brush and debris. The axe seemed to have been recently used judging by the markings on the blade but the rocking chair had no seat… it was just the frame. Curiosity took over as I began scheming questions while imagining scenarios to explain the oddity of this place. I quickly silenced those thoughts and smiled. The whole scene which i had stumbled upon could have been set to a horror film or part of the blair witch projects–but no. It was by chance i had come across this place so i left it at that, chance.
Birds chirping… fresh moving water babbling over rocks and branches… crisp cold wind whipping through trees… the invigorating scent of fresh mountain air paired with a hint of sunlight piercing through the lofty green thicket of trees. I stood there in silence, closed my eyes–Peace.
